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I was around ten years old, sleeping in the back seat of my mom’s car, parked during evenings at the Detroit River. I looked out the window at the stars, as I feared morning until by exhaustion I would fall asleep. I often woke up having wet my pants from my very real and imagined fears. By day, my mom would look for work and wash clothes while I hung out with the old black guys that would spend their day fishing in the Detroit River. I thought I was the only one who grew up in fear, in a world of abuse, until at thirteen I finally met my half-brother at a professional boxing match. He was in sitting next to our dad. Donny looked at me from inside the ring, trying to figure out who I was as the fight announcer was making his formal introductions. All we had shared at this point was the same biological father. Little did we know...

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