She told me to call him Father, because my real Daddy had abandoned me long ago. And she said this with her new husband in the room. Father didn't like me. Said I didn't know respect, though, to this day, I've never been able to peice together what made up his needed respect. She told … Continue reading My Second Step-Father
Tag: memories
Of Step-Dad the First
Down the worn carpet baby blue, but beloved to the door I was so familiar with touching My feet, small then led me to the bed where my father stood oddly haggard as he woved, peice by peice his strewn wardrobe. 'Father' asked I Little voice. 'Where are you going?" His answer was vague even … Continue reading Of Step-Dad the First
Of Mother
I remember two-year-old me bouncing on the ratty queen bed in my grandfather's basement throwing a rock at my mother's TV. She had found the rock who knows where, but she collected odd things like that. Whatever reminded her of vast open spaces where Indians ran free. She came out of the bathroom in … Continue reading Of Mother
Author T.S. Lowe 