Last Updated on June 13, 2010 by Roff Graves

On our first trip to Georgia, I guess my grandson Brandon was 13 years old, when we were spending the night in this sleezy motel. (I was never much for wasting money on a place to sleep) It must have been midnight or so when Brandon woke me up. “Grandpa, Grandpa, call 911!”. I asked Brandon what was wrong. “He is killing her! He is killing her”, Brandon replied! From the next room, we could her a woman screaming, “Oh my God, Oh my God” “Oh Oh Oh my God”. I assured Brandon that it was OK, not to worried. I had a little bit of trouble sleeping as I kept wondering how I was going to explain this to my oldest very religious Seventh Day Adventist daughter, Wendy, Brandon’s mother!

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