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Momma was a rollin stone

Chapter 1;


They say that demons can be generational, that they can attach themselves to a family for decades with such a stronghold, that the individuals are blissfully ignorant to the forces that are working against them. Ours dug themselves in like an insatiable tick sucking the very marrow out of our family life. And it was just normal to us.

The nurses nicknamed me Rosebud when I was born because I only weighed 2 pounds, and was not expected to live. I was always told that my mother had taken a fall and went into early labor, it wasn’t until 40 years later I would learn the heart wrenching truth that helped set me free.

There are a few fond memories that come to mind during my early years, going to the beach outside of Exeter New Hampshire. I can still clearly see my mom with her bouffant hair do and pokadot bikini. Coal black hair, blue eyes. She was beautiful.

Running through the mossy green creeks of Shickshinny Pennsylvania, chasing frogs. But the most vivid memories are from our journey to the west. My Father was a welder that afforded him the opportunity to venture out west to the Four Corners area of New Mexico when the oilfield was booming in 1978. Dad was born into a wealthy family. The Hickok bloodline, as in Wild Bill Hickok. I can still hear him shouting after several drinks of Importers vodka; YOU GOT HICKOK BLOOD RUNNING THROUGH YOU VIENS, AND DON’T YOU FORGET THAT! But my father was a spoiled brat and he ended up squandering his inheritance, in a drunken stupor. Leaving us kids, nothing but a stiff upper lip. I had 3 brothers and 1 sister.

To be continued


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