When we were young, we’d admire all the wealthy homes in our town when we’d drive by them. Then we’d hear my parents talking about all the strife inside those homes.
As years went by, we had neighborhood reunions and stories came out. Abuse. Psych problems. Divorce. Adultery
Alcoholism. Failures. All covered up by money and things. Us too of course.
I remember as a 13 year old, sitting at the bar in the country club, watching my day B.S. with other members. A metanoia, a resolve, soul changing event occurred in those minutes. How, hypocritical. How phony. How boring. How not for me.
I became a rebel, able to walk comfortably in any strata of society. I have had adventures unlike any with whom I played as a child.
Essay hit home for me personally.