It was a good house to hide which was what I did most of the times. My grandfather passed away as I was 7 years old. My grandmother stayed and lived there alone, I asdume she died there too. The last time I visited her she was in a hospital bed in the back room.

I walked with my youngest around the house. The garden was nearly the same. I remembered the trees with the swing but they were removed long ago.

I wonder if you still feel that bitterness about the world and circumstances you've been raised. It's hard to forget and tell oneself there were good times as well.

Studying wasn't important to me, like it was to you. I left home at the age of 15 and only returned twice. I tried to settle peace with the family but it was not in it. I didn't and still don't want my children to be harmed by that (white) family. At times I wonder if things would have been differently if my grandfathers both didn't die at a young age.

You know, you said you do not write well but what you just wrote is worth a post if not a book. I can see you sit there. If I would pass by I would give you a hug.

Nothing as bad as economic pressure, expectations. I didn't want that for me. I told my grandmother as I was pregnant and she said she wasn't so sure my mother would still give me the crib (the one from the orphan home).

I told her they could keep it and I rather use a banana box and left.

I love that house despite the envy, hate, fights, perhaps because it made me feel safe. As a young child I always felt scared.
Thanks for sharing this with me. Unlike me you climbed up on the ladder. Be proud of yourself and enjoy your childhood today. You can since you have a child.

❤️🍀