Not Another First Time Story
My Broken Mother, My Broken Heart
My first hurt haunts me, even now
Published in
5 min readSep 28, 2018
When I was small, I would watch my mother lace up a pair of Pumas. She called them her “shitkickers,” and she wore them whenever she was ready to fight. I remember her walk — that fearless strut down Fort Hamilton Parkway in her black leather jacket — and how everyone seemed to…
