Read halfway through before abandoning this book. The authors anger dripped from every page and struck me as knee-jerk reactionary, spiteful, and ultimately unproductive in that in 40+ years time the author hasn't seemed to make much progress in dealing with the frustrations of her childhood. While I sympathize with her and too come from a rough upbringing, Spike appears caught up in lamenting that her imagined ideal was never recognized. What strikes me as selfish is she seems oblivious to the damage she inflicts upon her own son, blaming away her poor parenting as a result of receiving poor parenting rather than finding a way to keep history from repeating. It all seems so counter-productive and senseless, crying over spilt milk that can't be changed, angry at life for not experiencing the "greener grass" she jealously perceives others as enjoying.
And perhaps other reviewers are accurate in claiming that one's reaction to Spike's books is more of a reflection of one's own inner turmoil and outlook, but I'm not interested in simply spewing aggression to spread the anger around and amuse oneself. Apparently I failed to grasp her point. Life sucked. Okay. It can do that. But how is the author improving the situation other than capitalizing on her resentment by writing accounts detailing just how pissed off she is?
Some of the contributing writers' stories were worthwhile, but overall I found this book aggravatingly shallow and selfish. Surely this wasn't the author's intention, but it's how it strikes me.