As my journey continued, my life began to get harder and harder, a life that no child should ever have to live or shall I say survive. Born on a cold January 24, 1966 in Cape Girradeau, Mo, was also where so many times I’d wished it would’ve been the day that I took my first and last breath, but my hell had only just begun. At the early age of 2 months mommy said I was hospitalized with an Unbreakable fever, doctors had me in an ice bath periodically through the day for about two weeks and mom would visit daily unable to hold me, her first daughter she had to look at me through the window praying that I would survive whatever had taken hold of her precious baby girl. But why is a question that I’ve always wondered about, why did she stand there at that nursery window everyday praying for my survival only to allow me to experience so much pain later on in life? Yet it was all a plan that only God himself knows the answer!! Well, as the story goes, I have a lot of memories from growing up. There was a time when I shared a bedroom with my two older brothers, there were two sets of bunk beds and me being the youngest slept on one of the bottom bunks. That was a time when mommy was so loving and attentive, whenever myself and my brothers became ill, here came mommy with that Vicks vapor rub, rubbing it on our chests, putting it on our top lips and also having us to swallow a little, then mommy made sure to pile blankets over us to make sure that whatever was going on got sweated out!! She said the vapor rub would open up the skins pores so the blankets was necessary to keep us from getting pneumonia. Or it was the hot toddies she made that was sure to knock out any illness along with us as well!! Well I remember one night my daddy came home, me and my brothers were always in bed and as usual we heard mommy and daddy arguing, I remember getting scared because I must’ve known what was coming next and this haunts me to this day, suddenly we heard a loud noise and mommy screamed out in pain and she was crying and begging daddy “No Charlie, Please”, she just kept crying and begging him to stop, and I started crying, I don’t remember how young I was, couldn’t have been more than about 3 years old I don’t think but I wanted my daddy to stop whooping my mommy with his belt!! Yes, he was actually whooping my mom with his belt... he must’ve heard me crying and he stopped ( mommy said my daddy loved me so much), when he stopped beating her she ran into our bedroom and got in my bed with me and I remember us crying together, but she was telling me it’s ok, stop crying, but I couldn’t because I knew she couldn’t be ok. My memories of my biological dad are few but I thank God that I can still remember him. He was good to me, I can’t say that I remember a time when my dad ever hurt me, except when he disappeared from my life, but I guess it was better that way because he probably would’ve killed mommy, so one of us had to suffer in life and I guess life chose me. I can remember a time when my mom was about eight months pregnant with my brother and my dad and I were in the bathroom, my daddy was so handsome to me ( he favored Dr King) and I loved watching him shave, he was always so neat. Well this one day I was in the bathroom sitting on the side of the tub watching my daddy shave, he had on a white t-shirt, some perfectly creased dress pants and of course his pointy toe shoes that he kept shining, my dad was always sharp. I remember him standing in the mirror shaving his face as I looked at him with so much admiration, and I could hear my mom waddling up the hallway about to pass the bathroom, I can’t remember the words they said to each other but I do remember as mommy walked past the bathroom door, daddy suddenly stepped out and kicked her in her butt as she walked and as she fell to the floor screaming in pain and holding her stomach, daddy just stepped back into the bathroom, finished shaving, washed his face and put on his shirt and suit jacket, gave me a kiss and stepped over mommy laying there on the floor crying, now remember she was very pregnant because her stomach was so big. I don’t know why I loved my daddy so much because he always abused my mother. After that I can remember us going to stay with an aunt for a little while, I’m not sure just how long but mommy eventually went back to daddy. I can’t even for the life of me understand why she kept going back. My mother had 12 kids for my dad but only 4 of us survived. I can’t help but wonder if my brothers/ sisters in heaven has been praying for us all these years, but I’m sure if they’ve been able to witness our lives, I know they are soooo glad that they’re time here was cut short at birth. Especially watching my life, it’s hard to go from a dad who adores and protects you, to becoming nobody’s baby!! When I was just about 4 or 5 years old I remember playing with matches while daddy slept, and my older brother was trying to stop me, well needless to say I was stubborn, always have been and somehow I lit the mattress on fire, and daddy woke up and thought it was my brother, after putting the fire out he beat my brother so horribly, and through all that agony and pain my brother never told on me, he said because he didn’t want daddy to beat me so he took it. I feel bad to this day about that because my brother got beat really bad, my dad was cruel when he wanted to be. I don’t have anymore memories of daddy but I know he was still around because one of his sisters used to babysit us while mommy worked, she was mean and cruel and she hated me, but for what? I was just a child. Every morning she used to cook us oatmeal, but she never put sugar in it, nor if you’ve ever tried to eat plain oatmeal then you already know that that was torture, anyways, it would always make me gag and I would almost vomit trying to eat it. She had this table that seemed to me was soooo so so so long, she sat me at one end, my oldest brother at the other end and my middle brother to the side, well me and my oldest brother had this thing where he would rush through his oatmeal and while she was out of the kitchen he would slide me his bowl and I would slide him mine, well this particular morning I slide the bowl too hard and he missed it and it slid off the table and broke ( it was glass). She heard the bowl break and rushed back into the kitchen and when she figured out what had happened, she beat me and there was a pantry in the kitchen with an old chest on the floor and it was dark in there, she slammed my little body down on that chest and told me I’ll be there until my mother got home and she slammed the door shut and locked it. I remember screaming and crying and begging her to please let me out, but she wouldn’t and I heard her trying to get my middle brother away from the pantry door but he wouldn’t leave me, he stayed there and tried to calm me down but he couldn’t because there was rats in that closet and I was so terrified, we cried together forever, but she kept her word she didn’t let me out until it was time for my mom to get off work. Because of that experience, I grew up terrified of the dark, throughout the years I’ve managed to be able to deal with being in the dark a lot better, that I’d unless it’s an unfamiliar place. I’m not sure what happened to that lady, but we told mommy what happened and we never saw that lady again. Whoever she is though I blame my fear of insects, flies, butterflies, anything that can crawl on you, you name it I’m scared of it and I owe it all to her!! That’s one dramatic part of my childhood that I’ve yet to have gotten over. Suffering abuse as a child can sometimes be detrimental but for those who survive it leaves lasting mental and emotional damage that lasts a lifetime, I still can’t help to wonder why did I have to be Nobody’s baby??