For now, we’ll hit the “no family” part. I had lost my parents when I was young, and by “lost” I mean: my dad ran off, and my mother followed suit when I was about nine. Not really a biggie to me, from what I can remember; I didn’t like her much anyway. I always recall wanting to stay at Grandma’s, and at nine, I got my wish. My grandma was a gambling, loud, moonshine-drinking hell of a woman. She always told you exactly what was on her mind, and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her. She had lost my grandpa, the only man she’d ever loved, right after she had my mom. We didn’t talk much about him, because it seemed to be the only thing that could bring her to tears. Like myself, Grandma didn’t like my mother much. She would always say how opposite they were: my mother was a “no backboned” woman that couldn’t even spell responsibility, and all she ever cared about was herself. Looking back, I would have to agree, especially since the reason she had left me at age nine was because she’d met a rich man. This man wanted to start a family, but couldn’t see himself dating a woman with kids, which was perfect because she didn’t let him know she had one. She dumped me, so she could live happily ever after.
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