Chapter three will be boring. I will tell you that up front.
Why will it be boring?
Because it is "normal".
Living and growing up in a happy loving home?
But living and loving and being a child -that kind of boring. Being fed and clothed and having a warm safe place to lay your head at night kind of boring.
The orphanage was a good place. Nothing like the Miss Hannigan scenes in the movie Annie. I loved it there.
No abuse or mean evil events.
That would come soon enough. It would come.
Dark, black and about to burst open like an over-ripe piece of fruit clinging to a vine. It would happen.
Raw. Bleak. Exposed.
Three innocent kids just about to fall to the ground into a foul decaying heap, it would happen.
Why tell all of this now?
It's MY story. I own it. I lived it.
It has been a part of me for 50 years. It's not who I am.
It's not who my brother and sister are. We all survived. Sometimes I wondered how?
Some may shape their lives after their troubles as a child.
I refuse to do that. I want to rise above it. Change it. Make sure the pattern stopped with me and with us and with "them." Not because of "them" but in spite of "them"
I will never forget it but it will not cling to me. It will not ruin me.
It will not soak into my soul and become me.
Again, Chapter 3 will be plain and boring and healthy. Three kids among many that had no parents in a time in this country when it happened way too often.
Children were thought of as property back in the late 1950's and 60's. You did as you were told. No sassing. No back-talk. No options.
You were spanked and disciplined and accepted, even respected your elders no matter what.
You told no one your troubles. Who would care?
Who would listen?
No one interfered. We were children.
Chapter 3. Boring.
Chapter 4.... Perhaps Not So Much....