Everyday Black Matters
This is a sponsored post from BlogHer and McDonald’s.
I grew up with about as much dysfunction as the next dysfunctional family. You’ve heard it all before: alcoholism, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, poverty, violence, a single parent home, mental illness, two prison sentences, etc. etc. The works. It was all there. It was a daily reminder that the prospect of my breaking free from the cycles of dysfunction was unlikely. My growing up to be a wife in a happy home was not an expectation or even a hope. Not even a measly prayer.
There were simply no words to ask God for something I’d never seen or understood.
When my Dad was hauled off to prison I thought all Dads went to prison.
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