I entered the Davis house with nothing but what was in my bag—the sum of all my possessions. I had neither toiletries nor underwear nor the simple sorts of things that make life bearable, survivable. I had but a few changes of clothing and a smatter of mementos that I am amazed I managed to hold on to. That which I considered essential: my 4th-grade journal, a ring my Grandfather made, and, of course, the asshole watch. The rest could and would be replaced in time, but these three things could not be, and so I had to hold on to them as closely as they held me to a permanence that my circumstances did not afford me.
Im still having a hard time wrapping my head around what you went through. Life can be so cruel but it made you stronger
I've been reflecting a lot on some of my friends' parents when I was young and the generosity some of them showed to me even though I could be quiet or sullen or was a bad influence on their kids sometimes. I can't get anywhere with my thoughts beyond, "I was a weird kid and they were nice to me anyway. Why? What did they see when I showed up?"