I grew up in the projects. Two bedrooms. My two sisters, then my brother, four of us...all in a single room. We had one dresser. I got a drawer. For all my possessions. Everything. I found ways to carve out my time. You had too. It wasn't rocket science.....you got up earlier.....went to bed later.....took the first job you were offered at 13......worked weird hours.....did what you could.....didn't explain......you kept moving.....you got old....people assumed things about you....didn't matter....that was them.....and you had fun when and where you could.....in my teenage years that meant usually getting thrown from the dining table (careful....finish eating) by antagonizing your father.....and being involved with women.....they were special.....women....
You got married young......stayed married for 20 years.....raised two of the most amazing daughters....prided yourself on being a dad.....figured out how to be a dad when you were asked to leave the house....and kept moving....working....found your calling....worked it.....am still working it.
I don't have regrets. I've done what I could every step of the way. Who needs to hear the complaints. Which I don't have in a randomly assorting universe.
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