Most of this autobiography that you are about to read is non-fiction, and an ongoing saga. I was born in Virginia, and raised in Washington D.C. and Prince Georges County, Maryland. This story is based on my life. I am my sixty years old now, and I have done more than my fair share of drugs, and hard-core partying, and kicking ass. Most of the names, times and places have been changed for obvious reasons. I slept on army cots most of my life, whether they were in my aunt’s basement laundry room, my cousin’s back porch way down in the boonies of Virginia, or whatever institution I was in at the time. I was in and out of institutions from the beginning of my early life. I guess I was hardheaded, or at least as they say, “Hard to train,” or maybe it was because of someone else beside my family was raising me, who knows? In this story, you will read about why you should not abuse your children and what happens if you do. You will read what a living hell is all about and what evolves from having no control over your children and letting them basically run loose, and raise themselves because of no parental control, or love. When you read this story, you will sit back, and probably say that there is no way that anybody in the world has been through this much, in just sixty years of life. This is the first time that I have decided to sit down, write, and share my life with anyone because for one thing, it is far from what I am proud of; believe this. I am ashamed, as well as embarrassed! These events have often been so very painful to recall, events, or nightmares if you will. I have tried all of my life to forget the past, and move on towards the future. I continue to fine-tune this story, which only reaches my twenty-one years of life. This is the first of 6-8 books; hope you enjoy them. (Like blogs? Go to moreronsblogs.com, and check mine out.)
Ronjon
