Experienced Expressions

Introduction: It takes a lot of charisma to tell a story, especially one that reflects shame & embarrassment. I figured out that there is a big difference in writing a book that people all over the world can relate too, rather than being limited to a psychiatrist who is paid to listen but could really care less. That is why I have chosen to lay in my own bed, writing the thoughts that form in my head so that my end result will be the creation this book. I prefer to do it that way verses laying on an office couch telling my thoughts to an empty room, where they basically bounce off the walls and echo together into the type of madness that can create a monster. Life wasn't always this hard; I remember being a kid that had a mom to give me everything. My mom was very hard working at raising her children right. We had chores, home cooked dinners, holidays and the whole nine. My brother and I had the clothes, the jewelry and all the latest toys, (I will never forget my pink 10 speed bike). I wanted that bike as bad as a person wants shade in ninety degree weather. In fact, that was the best Christmas that a kid could ever want. I always wondered why I held on to that memory, maybe because it was such an overwhelming joyful one or maybe because it was the type of memory that never came back. I can say that I lived a good life up until I was like 12 years old, then things started to change. Eventually I was snatched from a home that appeared to be normal & deeply rooted, and then had to adjust to it becoming tainted & broken. As I said; my mom was a good mom, with a good job, and the most beautiful black woman I have ever seen. She had style, intelligence and class. Everything about her demanded attention, so why it is that it wasn't the attention of a successful business man that she would grasp. Instead it was of a drug addict that took the goals of her future & blew them up with the smoke of a crack pipe. I'm not saying she didn’t have a choice in the matter, I'm just saying she deserved for her options to be different. I guess your wondering where my dad comes in at during this. Well in between doing drugs & selling them he pretty much bounced in & out of my life once in a blue moon. The only relationship I had with my dad was as a small girl, and that was through the penitentiary visits thanks to my grand mom. If it wasn't for my grand mom I wouldn't have never seen that man or had even the smallest chance of interacting with him. We never really got the chance to develop what you would call a bond, but what can I expect from a man doing 2 1/2 to 5 every 5 to 10 years. I do have one good memory though that I hold onto for him too. My dad had a passion for horses, so he worked for what looked like rich white folks. He had a guest house that was given to him to live in while he took care of the horses and land. One day I went to visit and spend a night with my dad, where what was supposed to be his new & rehabilitated life. That was the best day I ever had with him. He took me to the stable so that I can watch him do his work. Later he stopped at a stall that held a small black pony, and said to me “his name is Sam and he is your horse whenever you are here". I never saw Sam again after that day. To be honest I know who my dad is but I don't know his person, his love or his entire history. They say he was the sharpest Black/Cuban man around. He drove a nice car, had a swagger with the ladies & waves in his hair deep enough to make you ocean sick. Unfortunately he had gotten hooked on drugs and could never get unleashed. It seemed to me that it was his life, especially since that app