|I don’t really know my mom and dad all that well. I was taken from them at an early age and raised by a nice elderly couple.
I use “nice” very loosely. Yes, they were good to me, but only for a very brief period of time.
My adoptive father was prone to delusions of grandeur. He was pretty damned old when I was but an infant and he thought he was still in good enough shape to “fight the good fight.” Yeah, the imbecile enlisted in the Great War – the big war that was going on among all the nations of the world.
My adoptive mother cried. Day in and day out. I never realized someone could have that many tears inside them.
I never cried but she always shared her pain with me, nonetheless. I was her source of comfort. Her rock. Her reason to live while Augie was away. She even referred to me using a derivation of a cutesy little nickname she had developed for him – her big, brave trooper.
An idiot is all he was in my mind.
Why? Well, after he left, she was forced to liquidate the family business. And rather than subject me to the horrors of poverty, she put me up for adoption. She wanted me to have a good home.
And I did just that. I was adopted by a guy named Sam. Sam was a far cry from Augie and his wife, though. He pushed me. He made me work for my keep. He whipped me into shape.
Arguably, what Sam did for and to me made me into the champion that I was.
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