Where should I begin?  So much happened in the early years when we lived in Shelbyville.  My mother and father were both previously married.  My mother had two girls.  My Dad had three.  I don’t know if my Mom and Dad had an affair before they divorced their spouses.  In any case, they ended up getting married.  My Dad didn’t spend much time with them after he married my Mom.  They were an afterthought.  I’m sure he hoped she would have a son.  But no.  Their first child together was just another worthless girl.  She got pregnant again 2 years later.  This time none of it was easy.  This infant had messed up our mother’s mommy parts.  It better be a boy, my Dad was probably thinking.  But no.  So they knew this last pointless pregnancy had ended all hopes of them birthing a boy child.  They named my little sister after our Dad.  Mom had to have a hysterectomy.  Things were okay for a few years.  Dad was either working, golfing or mowing grass.  That’s all he did.  And every moment of his days off, he would have a drink in his hand by 5:00 p.m.  If he were mowing, he would drink beer as early as noon.  While driving a powerful John Deere.  At the time, I was too young to know better. I figured that most parents did these kinds of things.  So they drank every single night?  So what?  I’m sure most parents are like that.  But now I realize what I thought was normal is actually completely fucked up.  But by the time you realize this, you’re already half crazy yourself and alcohol seems like a great escape from the whirling, dreadful doubts and self hatred that plague me every waking minute.

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