How to become a slut…

I laugh every time I see that in my search results.  Thought I’d share.

When I was growing up, a family from Montreal moved next door. I remember it well. All the street kids were playing some silly game and we got up the nerve to ask for the new girl. We assumed she was our age because she looked very young. Turned out she was a few years older and smoked, wore her lighter in a leather lighter pouch around her neck. How cool was that? She also wore Lois jeans, only available in Montreal at the time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them on anyone else. I don’t remember her older brother being there right away, but when he arrived, he arrived big and became a great friend too. 

Their house had someone for everyone at ours. Their grandmother and my mother became very close and their Dad secretly idolized my sister after the day she wore her panties over her jeans as a sociology experiment. And, their mom took care of us. In fact, their parents were ideal. Fun, relaxed and absorbed enough in their own lives to let us live ours. Between our two houses, we did a lot of growing up.  You can’t see this but I’m smiling from the memories.

I think it was 1994 when their Dad died suddenly. The family stayed for a few years after that, with the brother building the house his father designed on the lot next door.  Eventually, they all moved away. My girlfriend beat cancer twice and is living strong. I saw her tonight, for the first time in years, at her Mom’s wake.

Remember, your life doesn’t end until there’s no one left to remember you. 

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About writesome

I've been wanting to do this for a while. Now I can type instead of pen scratch in a journal. It's an experiment, but isn't life. I wish you joy and happiness. May life bless you and may you bless life. View all posts by writesome

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