This Boy
I got into trouble for something I wrote
My mother caught wind of something I wrote sometime ago. It wasn’t anything new to her; she lived it as much as I did. But she was angry because some other family members confronted her about it. I didn’t need that, but I get it. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but none of it was new to any of them either.
So if you’re reading this and you happen to know my mother, just say nothing. It’s my story to tell.
On that, when I consider how my own mother feels about the things I write about I can only think of that not-so-old addage: if you wanted me to write you better you should have behaved better (paraphrased).
But here’s the truth of it all, boys and girls. I don’t write to be a dick to people who have shit on me. I write because I know someone out there has been shit upon (shat upon?) and that can be the darkest, lonliest place. If my story can help them in any way at all - whether it simply makes them feel less alone, or maybe helps them find …
