I have had a request from a reader to write my experience growing up in a orphanage. Since both my father and mother are deceased perhaps this is the time to examine those experiences that have been pushed aside in order to get on with my life. I will need to start at the beginning as this explains the situation of how my younger brother and I were put in the orphanage. Hopefully this adventure will not be boring for the readers as I am not an experienced writer. The posts will be done weekly and will be short. Names of individuals will be changed to protect their identity in the writing.
I believe that yesterday is not something to dwell upon, it is spent, can not be redone, can not be relived and tomorrow isn't here yet and we don't know what it will bring, so no sense in worrying over it; ah, but today, each and everyone of us has within us the ability to choose what kind of day we will have.
I was born on February 20, 1953 to a 31 year old alcoholic mother, the middle child of three children. I had an older brother that was 10, when I was born. I feel extremely fortunate to be alive because between my brother's birth and my birth my mother had another pregnancy in which she decided to have an abortion. This was related to my by my grandfather's second wife, who is the only grandmother I ever knew. So there were three children my older brother, myself and my younger brother who was born in 1956.