Where the struggle began

😶I am 44 years old and to think I’ve never spoke half of the things I will share. Sometimes I think “Did I deserve the life I was given?” Did I do something incredibly horrible or incredibly awesome in a previous life to determine the life that was provided. Not to say life is horrible but I will say there definitely  was some trialing times. I was born in 1978, I wouldn’t say it was a very segregated time but blacks and white together was still very “Taboo”. I’m am the 1st child of my white mom and my black dad ( how I found out a few years ago that he might not actually be my real dad , but that story is for a later time) My mom’s mother would not be embarrassed by her 16 year old daughter being pregnant from in her words ” a black nigger”, so out the door she was kicked. I’m honestly not sure how my mom wound up in Florida from Kentucky, possible her mom following her 9000th husband down there, but anyhow some how mom was pregnant in Florida at 16 alone in the hood. But honestly she somehow wasn’t alone long. Wilma Mae Taylor, my god mother. I have no idea how they meet but I’m so glad they did. She took my mom in, gave her a place to stay until she was able to get her own place. “the Duceses” as everyone in that generation calls it. The projects on 22nd Ave south, all black neighborhood with violence on top of violence on top of more violence, yep that’s where i was born, I don’t remember much of that time or how long she lived there but her being the only white girl in the neighborhood, she definitely had the war wounds to prove her struggle there.