As a teen, Uncle Ted always had his head in a bag of glue, huffing.
He got discharged from the Navy for tripping on acid. He married Sharon in 1973.
One summer, their pot plants got stolen from between the corn rows in their garden.
“You stole my fucking pot plants!” Sharon yelled.
“Everybody saw Janice sneaking in and out of your yard,” my mother replied.
Sharon shook her fist. “I know it was you!”
Uncle Ted sided with Sharon. The whole neighborhood knew otherwise.
For her third DUI, Sharon had nobody to blame—tending her garden wearing her parolee’s anklet.
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