For today, imagine how different your life would have been if you had grown up with a father and eight different mothers, each of whom worked as circus-folk. Due to the occupational hazards of circus life, your (step-)mothers kept expiring, not unlike Spinal Tap drummers.
In the first five years of your life you had four different mothers, but your father made the odd, drunken choice of trying to convince you that they were each the same woman, who had merely gotten a makeover, a new haircut or put on some weight.
A circus fire destroyed most of the marriage records and family photos. You ran away from the circus at 15, and miraculously built a successful life for yourself.
Your task now is to cut through the haze of your father's misdirection and find out how many women raised you, how many mothers had a hand in shaping your habits and personality. If you must, interview retired performers, dig through city archives and revisit former circus venues. The truth might be out there.
Then, in order to gain closure, write each of these women a Mother's Day letter expressing your gratitude. Even if they are deceased, writing the letter should be a cathartic experience.
Send your letters to loganliterary@gmail.com
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