Last night when I put Eric to bed and kissed him on his cheek, I started to feel guitly. I have a lot of guilt over not "doing enough" for him.

Then I started to think of my life when I was his age. My mom, mom's boyfriend, me and my brother lived in a tiny cockroach infested trailor. I remembered my mom's boyfriend taking off his leather belt to spank me with it when I wouldn't do whatever it was he had told me to do. I remember the sound of the leather against my skin. I remember my brother and his friends making fun of my ratty hair. I remember sleeping on the floor because mom slept in the only bed we had. I remember the cockroaches would scatter whenever you turned on a light. My mom was never home because she was always at work or out with her boyfriend.

I thought of all of that and my guilt went away. Eric has a great life. No cockroaches crawling on him when he sleeps. No sleeping on the floor. He gets a nice warm bed. Bought especially for him. He has a step- father who loves him and cherishes him. And he has me, every day.