Part 1: Where we try to understand the southern family dynamic and my need to run like hell when I hear the phone ring. Years ago, after I had finally moved out of my parent’s house, I received many phone calls from my mother. She was always checking in on me, as mothers do. She was checking to see if I was eating right, getting enough sleep and washing my clothes correctly (she was a bit of a Nazi when it came to doing laundry, but that is another story). Unfortunately there came a time where the majority of the calls were bad news. An Aunt had a stroke, an Uncle has died, or a cousin has jumped off a bridge and killed herself, yes that one is true. I got to the point where I told her to stop calling me, if all she was going to give me is bad news. So she got my father to call me. My dad’s not a big talker, so usually the only time I talk to him, is when my mom shoves the phone in his face to say hi to me. This time he called me, which should have been a red flag but I’m slow up...
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