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I have to start this story with a bit of explanation. I was born in the wrong family. Somewhere in Woodstock or Greenwich Village there as a hip, happy, artistic family waiting for their second child & I got waylaid in rural Florida. Crossed star paths, I guess.
My family of origin was all circles and squares, rigid with religious rules, anger fueled by frustration with the life they didn't expect to have, and no joy in their marriage. We had moved from the city of Jacksonville, FL. to the very small town of Glen St. Mary, to take care of my maternal Grandfather. Grandpa was very ill, slowly dying of congestive heart failure with very little medical support at that time. I can't remember what (if any) event led to my story, I had just reached the point of not being able to stand being where I was any longer. I had probably gotten my driver's license not long before this event. At any rate, one night I quietly went into my parent's bedroom, took my mon's car keys, a credit card for gas and left. I didn't pack a bag, had very little money and no plan. I just wanted to escape. I discovered that I love to drive all by myself down the highway, nothing but me and the wind in my hair. I could drive fast or slow; I had only myself to please and It was wonderful. Unfortunately, I had a small accident in a little town about 300 miles down state. When the police came and got my story, they called my parents and took me into custody. This was 60 years ago so the only thing they could do was take me to their jail and put me in a cell overnight. It was a barebones kind of place, with no sheets or pillowcases. I guess it was supposed to scare me into compliance with the family rules. (Didn't work.) I had some counseling with a psychiatrist for a bit after that. Lots of lectures at school from well-meaning teachers and a coach, but it was all band aid work and never got near the roots of the issues. So my next escape was to get married at 17 years old. But that's another story. --donna
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January 2022
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