When younger, I was lucky enough to live, with my mom and two brothers, in a mobile home which sat on a piece of land near the outskirts of the small town I grew up in. The land was owned by my grandfather and used for his businesses. Behind us were the usual small town neighborhoods, but in the front our lawn gave way to a large gravel parking lot where trucks could load and unload things at my grandfather’s warehouse. The warehouse was on the right side of this lot, his car wash toward the left and near the highway.
It wasn’t such a bad place to grow up, I guess. It wasn’t the Cleaver residence, but it was good enough for us. Although she did a great job raising us, my mom was still a single parent so was gone much of the time; either working or painfully trying
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