Feel Good Hit Of The Summer
“I hate her. I wish she was dead!” I blurted out those words in reference to my Mother. At the time, I was sixteen, apparently the age during which confrontation with any real emotion leads to a one way street where only exclamations worthy of a Degrassi Junior High script reside. I shamefully spat out that sentence while standing next to a beach volleyball court located at a bar in my hometown called Suds. Yes, I was sixteen years old and at a bar; a bar that was called Suds. At the time, it’s possible the median age of their clientele may have been around eighteen years, three hundred and sixty four days old. So, in comparison I wasn’t THAT young, plus, I didn’t drink alcohol anyway. Still, it was at that establishment filled with “adults” when I said it. “I hate her. I wish she was dead!” I did. I KNOW those were the exact words I said, because I remember the whole event vividly, as well as the isolating humiliation that followed after I realized how childish that must have so...