My first memory of temporarily living in a tent had nothing to do with
fun or relaxation. In fact, it was the farthest thing from it.
Sometime in the spring of 1974 I found myself lying on my back
staring down at all ten of my toes that were bleeding and crooked. I suppose it
was for the best that all I could see were my feet because my head had a large
gash in it that had my mother and her friend in full-on hysterics.
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