My pain started at age 10.

I remember my mother used to tell me, don’t cross the street. I tried to cross the street, got hit by a car attempting to run. Out of fear, I knew I would be whooped by my mother; I panicked, got up and ran out of shock. My mother found me on the second floor hiding in the hallway. She was yelling and screaming at me, wanting to whoop me, but the ambulance arrived looking for me. She wasn’t concerned whether I had a broken leg or not. I remember returning home after leaving the hospital to be whooped by my mother. I questioned did my mother love me or not. My answer today is.....YES....It was her way of loving me.