Twenty years ago, I wanted a cut and paste button on my living history. If only such a thing existed. I would’ve recreated my childhood, deleted certain details, and added events that my children could proudly tell to their friends. My rewritten version would exclude the times I fled for my life, and include a mother … Continue reading Life Doesn’t Come with a Cut and Paste Button
Pamela Koefoed’s irresponsible mother Joy Curran had her own ideas about parenting. Children should be allowed to go to bars with their parents, they can be left alone at home for weeks, they should be spoken to as adults, and they should always have good manners. Joy was a charismatic, free-spirited, single parent whose unconventional … Continue reading Catastrophic Parenting: Daddy Shopping & Auntie Mame’s House
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDWTydg8dFw My story has always been mine, so it astonishes me when those who hear me tell it have an over-the-top shocked, amazed, or dumb-founded reaction. It's typical for people to stare with tear filled eyes and ask, "Are you real?" Followed by, "How come you're doing so well?" This video is from Focus Today … Continue reading On Focus Today, I speak about my harrowing childhood.
What do dangerous chlorine gas, an exploding house, and a knife attack mean to you? Hopefully nothing. But for me, these were each experiences that I had growing up with my alcohol-addicted mother. Living with her was like trying to survive in a river of crocodiles. My life was often in danger and it's a … Continue reading A Reason to Live
My stomach ached with hunger. Mother left my eleven-year-old sister Robin and me home alone for several days without food. The cupboards were bare. The refrigerator had a half empty jug of Gallo and some dried out celery in a produce drawer but that was all. Panhandling wasn’t something I ever imagined for myself. I … Continue reading I was so Hungry that I Panhandled
White and grey smoke seeped from cracks surrounding the upper cabinet doors to my nine year old sister, Robin’s closet. I was seven. "Mommy!" I hollered from where I stood in the hall, near the bathroom. Mother answered my fearful sounding shout. When she reached me, I pointed to the bedroom at the end … Continue reading Fire! Help Fire! Call the Fire Trucks!