Del Williams


This is my story (Part One)

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Born in 1965, I was given away at 5 days old. My parents were unique to say the least. My mother had started a life of crime 3 years previous to my birth, which sent her to prison my entire childhood for varying lengths. My father was an alcoholic, though back then he would have just been considered a drunk.
At 5 days old I was sent to live with my mother’s cousin. It was here that a trail of abuse began. I was sat on a stove, burned with lamps, and irons. The state removed me and sent me to girls home. One snowy day they got tired of me talking, so they kicked me out. I was four years old. I had these red rubber boots on. I just traveled down the road not knowing any better. That day my father and his girlfriend showed up. This was clearly the first of miracles for me. They saved my life that day, something that I have only come to understand.
Things started out fine at my new home, but my father’s girlfriend was given to fits of anger. The last night my father was there she smashed him in the head with a hammer. It would be over a year before I saw him again.
The day that changed my life was when I was seven and it was the day before my birthday. I answered a phone call where a woman identified herself as my mother. I had always thought my father’s girlfriend was my mother. No one had ever told me differently. She showed up the next day in a yellow cab with lots of packages. I don’t know why, but we did not get along. In the ensuing weeks she received visitation rights. These visits did not go well. She wanted to be a parent, so she thought hitting me was how to do that. Every time she saw me she was hitting me. The first time was because I had left a ring in the tub. I began to make excuses not to see her, but then she pulled the ultimate and won custody of me.
Life at my father’s girlfriend had gone downhill. For about a year I was molested by her current boyfriend and a female she had chosen to raise. One week before my mother won custody Rose tried to drown me.
I didn’t live with my mother, but went to live with my father’s brother and wife. Her family refused me without a promise of payment.
Rose, my father’s old girlfriend, thought the best way to get back at my mother was to not let me have any of my things. She kept them all. Within five days my mother was back in prison. She would be gone for over five years. Then when she would be about finished with some requirement she would runaway and not be seen for years.
Then the day came when I had finally had enough of people hitting me. I ran away from home. Some things followed, but ultimately I was removed on July 29, 1980 to a girl’s home. Two weeks later my father died. I had come to know him during my time at his brothers. This was a huge blow, one that I did not take well. My family blamed me for his death, but the reality was that his drinking killed him.
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