Mom picked that title – “Bitter The Apple”. From my earliest recollection, she always said that if she wrote the book of her life, that’s what she’d call it.
Even as a young child, i found it depressing. I couldn’t figure out why her life was so awful? We lived in a working-class suburb – owned our own house. There was a gigantic farm field behind it, suitable for endless games of “capture the flag”. And woods – where we used stolen construction supplies to build amazing tree forts. The neighborhood was full of kids – we were never lonely and there were adventures to be had!
The family was quirky, mealtimes were loud, six of us were crammed into a smallish house, but we were all healthy and shared lots of laughs. Dad had a good job – we didn’t see him much during the week, but he was always around on the weekends, working on projects, leading discussions on philosophy, music and life, or teaching us to throw a variety of balls at each other. We went camping every summer – where bathing was entirely optional for a week!
Why was Mom so bitter?