A Dangerous Childhood

It’s true, I had a dangerous childhood.  When I was six I would walk between the legs of our 25 horses on the farm I grew up on. My father raised thoroughbred race horses.  And, I would ride them bareback clinging to their manes.

Of course, I fell off a good deal, and had many bumps and bruises along the way.  

My mother was not the most attentive parent, and I have many scars to prove it. My head was cut open by a wagon handle, I had many black eyes from biking accidents and being hit in the face with a rake accidently (that was my mother).  I’ve written about being thrown down the stairs, pushed out of a moving truck, and locked in the woodshed. I spent a good deal of my childhood injured.  I used to think this was normal, but now I know better.

What I did have was a great deal of freedom to roam unsupervised. My battle scars taught me how to roll with the punches and persevere. 

My children have no such scars from childhood. The ER visits were few and far between as my children had plenty of supervision. 

My childhood was dangerous, but it was also wonderful. I’ve had a comparatively calm adulthood, apart from recent events, and I’m looking forward to this time with just my youngest daughter.

Soon, I will have only one child at home, and frankly, I am really looking forward to it.

If only the goodbye part were not so hard…

Love and Blessings to all.

 

 

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