Little Alfred, Another Lost Child

Many readers of this book may feel at a loss to "feel" the real people and how they felt. That is the purpose of telling it the way it was. No fakery, no embellishments, just the raw straight-from-the-hip truth. This is not fiction; this is fact. No deep-seated love or caring, except for my grandma's and the Shermans (may their goodness last for eternity), no affection, no deep looking-into-their-souls for a little lost child-nothing. These foster parents were paid, and it was a job just like any other job; that's all it was for them. I have no love or hate for these people; it was something that just happened. Nothing can change the past; it is long gone. One can only look back at it and try to remember the good times and forget sorrowful and hurting times. This manuscript was submitted to a literary agent who liked it. There was just one problem: she wanted to change it, give it more impact, more pizzazz, make it stand out even if it meant putting in fiction. I didn't and wouldn't go for that. If I wanted this manuscript to be fiction with all its embellishments, I'd write it as such. What you will be reading is my life through my eyes as a child with all its warts, cuts, bruises, and ugliness. It's not perfect. It's life.