By Jaycee Dugard
In the summertime of 1991 i used to be a typical child. I did basic issues. I had associates and a mom who enjoyed me. i used to be similar to you. until eventually the day my existence was once stolen.
For eighteen years i used to be a prisoner. i used to be an item for somebody to exploit and abuse.
For eighteen years i used to be now not allowed to talk my very own identify. I grew to become a mom and was once compelled to be a sister. For eighteen years I survived an most unlikely situation.
On August 26, 2009, I took my identify again. My identify is Jaycee Lee Dugard. I don’t think about myself as a sufferer. I survived.
A Stolen Life is my story—in my very own phrases, in my very own approach, precisely as I be mindful it.
Note: no longer retail, yet comprises TOC and appears lovely fresh.
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Additional resources for A Stolen Life: A Memoir
I don't think there are many women who have gone through the hardship that she has and endured it. " "Why, ma'am, Sister Charlotte just suffered like the most of us did. Sometimes you could find white people who treated we poor slaves right good; but it was not often. Why, in my young days I used to pick cotton all day and half of the night. My marster used to set a tree on fire for us to see how to pick cotton. I have picked as much as three and four hundred pounds of cotton in one day a many a time.
How could any Christian man believe it was right to sell and buy us poor colored people just like we was sheep? com THE HOUSE OF BONDAGE 31 I tell you, I have seen black people, in slave-time, drove along--may be one hundred in a drove-just like hogs to be sold. Sometimes men were sold from their wives and mothers from their 50 children. I saw a white man in Virginia sell his own child he had by a colored woman there. They say a 'Merican man never would take care of his children he would have in slave-time by the black women, as a Frenchman would here in Louisiana.
Poor Warren! when he met me that morning he was scarred all over. The overseer told him he had to find me or he would almost skin him. So Warren left the place; but I hadn't seen him in two months, I reckon, till I met him that morning. We sat all day long talking over what we had better do. Warren said, 'Sallie, let me tell you what's best for us to do. You know old Uncle Tim says he can houdoo and make the white folks stop doing us so bad, and let us do what he told us. com THE HOUSE OF BONDAGE 50 folks' hair and some salt and a piece of old mistress's dress, and make a little bag and sew it up and put it under the steps where all the white folks have to pass over every day.