I drove 500 miles to be with family, only for my father to call me an “em.bar.ras.s.ment” at the table. His reason? My truck.

might be written there.

None of them knew that my birthday is December 23rd.

They lived with me for eighteen years. They raised me. They watched me blow out candles. They signed permission slips. They held Christmas mornings. They knew my favorite cereal and my shoe size and what time I woke up for school.

But they didn’t know my birthday.

That’s what continue reading …