It’s such a vivid memory. One day, when I was about fourteen, I was riding in the car with my dad, and we were talking about ancestry. I was very curious about my roots. When I asked him what percentage Cherokee we were, he gave an odd response. I said, “If you’re...
My earliest memory is the day my mother committed suicide. That was the day the first crack appeared in my perfect, 3 year-old-life – the first crack of many that would break my heart and leave me broken, but not crushed, for a while. My story begins long before I was...
