Being lucky enough to have been born in southern California in the early 80’s, I can recall the breeze blowing through palm trees and all of the vibrant red color in our apartment during my first 5 ½ years. My earliest memory resurfaced as an 18-month old falling out of my stroller and busting my head on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (both, my mother and sister confirmed the story when I told them about it). Without giving too much away, I was surprised by how much I remembered during those first 5 ½ years once I quieted my mind.
I have mixed feelings about those early years. Obviously, I was too young to recognize my mother’s mental illness and addiction. I did my best to write from the perspective of that innocent child, but this chapter proved to be the most challenging. My father was nonexistent, but my sister’s father gracefully filled the gap. Throughout California Born, I managed to mostly focus on the good times with my sister until we had to abruptly fly across the country returning my mother’s roots in Rappahannock County, Virginia.
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