The story that follows is true though I’ve changed a few key facts (namely the town I live in) to hide my identity. I feel an occasional twinge of guilt, but by and large, I’m pretty damn well pleased with myself. And so is my son!
I’m a thirty-two year old mother of one son. John is sixteen. It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to figure out that I got myself knocked up when I wasn’t quite 16. I dropped out of school and, except for some early help from my