Growing Up as the Youngest
Let me take you back to when I was a kid.
My mom gave birth to me in 1982 and married my father five months later.
At that point, she already had three children from previous relationships — one daughter and two sons.
As the youngest, I became the baby of the family.
My Mother: The Original Helicopter Mom
Today, people talk about “helicopter moms.”
Long before that term existed, my momma defined it.
If the dictionary included a photo, hers would be next to the word.
Interestingly, she wasn’t like that with my older siblings — just me.
She believed I had too big of a heart, saw the world with innocent eyes, and didn’t recognize the dangers that lurked around me.
Living Next to a Killer
That fear, I believe, partly came from the man who lived behind us — a convicted murderer.
I was absolutely terrified of him.
Even now, I refuse to go outside after dark, all because of what he did and how he made me feel.
Though he’s now serving a life sentence, the fear he created still lingers.
If my mom hadn’t been so protective, I might not have made it.
He tried several times to lure me over while I played in our backyard.
Sometimes, he even tried to run me over.
Our backyard connected directly to his mother’s yard.
Eventually, after he got released on bond for nearly killing his girlfriend’s three-year-old son, his mom rented him the house right next door to ours.
The Day He Got Out
I’ll never forget the day he came home.
My daddy and I were outside planting flowers, working side by side, when the man looked straight at my father and said,
“Next time, I’ll make the front page.”
After that, he let out this wild, unsettling laugh and stared right at me.
My daddy, a man who rarely speaks, didn’t stay quiet that day — and neither did my momma.
They immediately rushed me inside.
From that moment on, I wasn’t allowed back outside — not until the police arrived and collected the murder evidence he had brought back to his house.
Although the crime occurred elsewhere, he returned home with it, and that night a core nightmare was created and will forever haunt me.
A Memory That Won’t Let Go
That day carved itself into my memory — one that still haunts me.
No matter how much time passes, it’s a moment that continues to shape the way I see the world.
My Sister’s Story
I was five and my sister had just turned fifteen.
That year, she met her first husband — a Black man — and soon became pregnant.
By fifteen, they had married, and before she turned sixteen, she had given birth to both of her children.
Her babies came into the world just over twelve months apart. But that is for my next post.