I'm singin' again...Papa was a rolling stone. (Whomp, whomp, whomp, whomp) Where ever he laid his hat was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone.
My papa isn't dead. He's alive and I won't say well, but he's alive and not sick. It's kind of sad that these lines remind me of my dad (whom aside from the little bit of resentment I harbor, I love dearly...I think). I, like what now seems to be the majority of us, have divorced parents and a slew (that's the word of the day, i suppose) of half-brothers and sisters. In actuality, I have one half-sister and five half-brothers. I often wonder why this is. Why couldn't my dad choose one and be happy? Was it him, her, or a combination of both? I know why my parents split (or at least my mother's side of the story) but what about the others? What is this epidemic sweeping the nation? Maybe I'll come back to that later....
I'm not sure I blame either of them but it is very unfair to me.
I don't know my siblings and I miss my daddy!
Clever Girl Writes Books
2 years ago