Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Historical Fiction

https://writersoutlet.io/writingImages/IMG_20170821_141123.jpg.......I was born on a Monday, The first day of May, 1972. I suppose I took my first breath, and screamed out my desire to live like all the other newborns born before me, and the ones born with me. Thankfully we all survived the ordeal. My mother was a farm girl, my daddy was a Vietnam vet. How that happened is a riddle only God knows the answer to. But I was  blessed to have been born with the parents I was given. Dad was a hard hand with a loving heart, mom was the rock that wouldn't shatter. Me and my brother were just two kids beginning the rest of our lives. My brother was born on a Tuesday, he probably don't remember the day, but I do. It was July the twelfth, 1977. The war our dad fought was finally over. And mom wasn't picking cotton and sharing a one bathroom house with her other four sisters and five brothers anymore. Neither my mama or daddy had running water growing up. Try as you mite, it just isn't possible to imagine how much it sucked, having to draw water from a well or spring. One bucket at a time. For dishes, baths, drinking and cooking water. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. They lived in harder times, now we just turn on/off a facet and the water runs. Alot of people still use Wells and springs for water. But I bet 99.5 percent use electricity to pump the water to there house. I ain't seen any of my neighbors pulling a rope or pumping a hand pump for water in a good while. But when I was still a young boy I can remember fetching water from a well, and using a hand operated well pump. The good ole days, it's funny how time sneakes up on you. One minute your ten, and the next your fifty. But the memory of it all, is what matters, Most of it is a blur. But the special ones are the ones that matter. Those are the ones our families have left behind, and the ones we hope to leave behind. So I will start with one of my oldest memories, when i was around three.