Hey folks! Don’t worry, my readalong of “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” will return, but for now, please enjoy this preview of my new essay in the Alabama Ex-Pat series. You can read the full version HERE.
As a child, I loved visiting my grandmother and uncle in the city. I say “the city”, but it was a modest 30,000 people at most. That didn’t matter. It wasn’t Birmingham or Atlanta, but it had a shopping mall and a movie theater, and a pretty river where hundreds of egrets nested each year.
I cherished my weekend visits. I didn’t need an escape from home, but I needed a change of scenery. While I enjoyed romping in the woods all week, I loved the perceived commotion of that little city. I got to go to the movies, play with other children on my street (there were none at home), and see my biological father.
Everything has an exception. Those trips weren’t an escape, but one time, my weekend visit truly shielded me from disaster. It started commonly, with my grandmother taking me to church while I drug my feet. After, I raced in the door to see my father. Everything was fine, until my mother came to the door.