My VC Andrews Story – Part I

Much like “Where were you when (blank) happened” stories, I feel like every girl, some way or another, has a V.C. Andrews story.

Lifetime’s rendition of Flowers in the Attic, aired yesterday.  For those of you who don’t know, Flowers in the Attic is the story of a woman who locks her four children in an attic in the hopes of getting written into her dying father’s will.  Apparently, she needs to hide the kids because her parents didn’t approve of her first marriage and that dude is dead.  (Wow, I am really butchering this summary)  The mother’s mom is sadistic and has really strong religious beliefs…she makes the lives of her daughter’s four kids really really awful.

Two of the children are on the cusp of puberty, and the other two are a young pair of twins.  Eventually the twins look to their older brother and sister and mother and father figures and because of their limited exposure to sunlight, and malnourishment, they stop growing.  Oh, and the older two siblings have sex…like more than once.  And the brother essentially initiates it by raping the sister saying “he has needs” or something similar.

Yeah…it’s some pretty fucked up shit…and yet, you can’t put it down/turn it off.


 Those of you who know me also know that I was named after my grandfather – Laurence Joseph Sharkey…he and I share the same initials.  What some of you might now know is that the reason I am named after him is because the day my parents were informed that they had been approved for adoption and were about to receive a little girl was the day of his wake.

When I was five years old, my grandmother was having difficulty maintaining such a large house and so my family and I moved in and built her an attachment on the left side of the house.  In total, I think we spent close to three years working on the house – redoing the floors, paint, etc.

One of the rooms I became fascinated with was the attic.  I think attics, while sometimes scary for children, can also be the most intriguing…partly because there’s so much shit in an attic.

To be honest, I don’t think we’ve ever quite tackled organizing and going through the attic.  In fact, the closes we’ve ever really come was when I was fourteen and decided I wanted my room to be up there.  My parents said, “Sure you can live up there…all you have to do is clean it out.”

“Challenge accepted.” or some derivative, I said, and headed for the top of the house.


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