Photo by Eye for Ebony on Unsplash It is the story I hear at almost every family gathering or every other weekend when I decide to go home. My mother tells this story the best and although I have very vague recollections, I can attest that there is truth to it. She says that as a child, I would not fall asleep at night unless she came to tuck me into bed. It was then that I would demand she sang me a song. She recalls there were times she would send my father to tuck me in but I would not relent. I wanted her to come by any means necessary or there would be sleep for none of us. Between laughs, she recalls how tired she was from caring for four children during the day but I would have none of it. I would not be happy until she began to exercise her vocal range. She sang songs about her faith, our folklore, and nursery rhymes. The little spider went up the water sprout countless times and I am not sure if he/she ever made it out. My mother hardly ever made it to...
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