I’m guessing I was pretty much a handful for my barely 20-year-old mom.
Why?
Because the very first thing I remember is she spit at me.
It’s my first memory.
When she leaned over the side rail and spit smack in my face.
She said she didn’t do it.
Didn’t remember doing it.
But that’s what I remember.
Maybe I’d spit first, and it was a teachable moment.
Like the head banging . . .
Want to know more? I’m honored to be sharing this story over tea and scones with Jennifer Dukes Lee today as her #TellHisStory Featured Writer. Won’t you come on over and meet me in the comments? Maybe share your first memory?
Still enough,
Sandy
Also writing in community with Emily and Holley
