Hi, my name is Muneca. I cant forget the the things I want to, I remember horrible ones. Most of the time things leave my mind in a flash. But I can’t remember the past as if it were yesterday at times if that makes any sense.
I ran away at the age of twelve in January in New York. My parents where very strict. School and back, no friends, no calls. So I thought I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Back and forth in the court system, I ended up in a Catholic home in Staten Island which Geraldo Rivera did a report on back in the middle 1970s.
I was one of those girls which ended up pregnant. I had already left before he had. My son’s father never cared, shared, or saw his son.
My parents, even after all I did being so rebellious, took me back with open arms. That was the first time I ever saw my father cry. I knew I was so wrong.
I had it all along. It was love and just all little bit too much over protection but I understood. My heart was pounding as I saw my parents . . . with my lump in my throat and one in my belly (my baby). I loved them so much. As to my previous story, they both passed away and I took care of them both. My son was a blessing for he now is always with me when he can.
