Truth bleeds through the lines

I was 16 years old, I wore my black trench coat everywhere and had a butch haircut. I was mad at everybody – including myself. It takes a lot to melt a teenager, but the note inside the black leatherbound King James Bible my Papa gave me for my birthday did the trick. It’s hard to keep your cool when you read that your father prays for you every day. As with all books, I wasn’t content until I’d read it through, and I did so, front to back, like a novel. I rationalized that the word count was lower than Les Miserables, Victor Hugo’s epic that I’d finished the month before...

Hop over to Mom's Toolbox to finish reading my guest post there!