“No! Please don’t burn that!” I screamed while my father threw my grandmother’s handmade quilt into a flaming barrel behind our house.

I chose Option A. Clutching the envelope against my chest, I threw my leg over the windowsill and dropped into the freezing Ohio night. I didn’t look back. I ran to my neighbor Delano’s house, my lungs burning, the smell of my burning grandmother’s quilt still trapped in my hair. That night marked the end of my childhood and the brutal beginning continue reading …