Baskadia

“My dad gave me up to the boys’ home when I was four. He told me that he was taking me fishing. He got the poles, the bait, everything. I was excited. He said he knew about a new spot. We pulled up to this huge building. He told me to wait in the car while he ran inside and got permission from his friend. Then he came back with two men. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but you have to stay here.’ I kept screaming: ‘I’ll be good! I’ll be good! I’ll be good!’ And he kept saying, ‘It ain’t you. It ain’t you. It ain’t you.’ I ripped his shirt off his back trying to keep him from leaving, and he drove off without a shirt.”