When I was three years old my parents divorced. I guess you could figure that was coming. This is the part that is very fuzzy. I was told at first that my younger sister and I lived with my mom, then my dad, then my mom. I suppose the family court system was about as fuzzy as my memory. I guess that's why they finally just handed us to my grandparents. At least there would be some sanity in our lives and we could build a good foundation.

I have another memory of my mom. She's dressed up for work and we are at my grandparents' house. I think at one time when she had custody of us, we were living with my grandparents. And ironically enough, these are my dad's parents. I think they always liked her more than their own son.

Anyways, she's wearing a long skirt with a matching sweater. This is the eighties, mind you, when everything was matchy-matchy. She is telling us goodbye and walking out the door. I don't remember if she came back or not. I have difficulty placing this memory on a time line.

All I know is that I was shuffled back and forth between households, like a game of musical chairs for about a year. And people wonder why I have difficulty trusting others. Maybe because I never knew if they were going to be there long enough.

I lived at my grandparents house for about three years with minimal contact from either parent. When they showed up, they brought tons of gifts. It's always interesting how people try to buy affection. I still had a knack for those kind of people when I got older. You can treat me like dirt but if I got something nice out of it, then it was all worth it. What an awful way to look at things.