There was twelve of them but they never had been close. Not to his eyes and experiences anyway. He guessed that’s the way it was for most big
families. People thinking that the
bigger the family the closer that same family but he was here to tell all who
could hear and read, that was not the truth; quite the contrary. He hated most of his family; loathed every
part of them. Why? Well, that was kind of complicated and
intricate. When one has been in a
situation for some fifty-four years it is hard to just define the problem in a word,
a sentence, a paragraph or a chapter. No
it takes a book often times to get through the quagmire, the muck and to come
to the reason and even then others looking from the outside in still would say,
“I don’t get it.”
So fuck it. I’m
talking about me. My life. Writing in the third person just ain’t gonnah
cut it. If a mothah fuckah is going to
tell a story then tell the shit right!
Is that alright with you?
Well, let me see if I can explain my reasoning in the best
way that I can and we’ll see what the verdict is subsequently.
Are you ready my dear brothahs and sistahs? You sure?
Take my hand while we walk and talk, I tell a story better
that way. Good.
And here we go…
I was born Meredith Singleton Hopson; the Last of twelve
children born to Morgan Lambert Hopson and Elaine Henderson-Hopson. ..
(…to be continued)
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