I never missed my father,.
Was brought up by my mother and grandmother; my grandfather died when I was two years old, as did my uncle, both from the mother side of the family. Not any male was left to help bring me up. My father had left to Hawaii before my birth; too cold here.
Still before I was born,must have suffered from some form of psychosis. She would have been young in the 70s, so maybe she had a that triggered a genetic disorder. Blam, just like that. Or maybe she was just crazy. . Who knows; I never learned the truth, even when I asked. Maybe she didn’t want to tell, maybe she didn’t know it herself. Writing this, I am beginning to question the ; are you really that good and innocent a person, ma?
Grew up a tyrant. Seldom was anything good enough for me. Ever failed to have a love affair, my mother would not dare to let me feel the pain. She would .? Ever got ? At some point everything becomes noise. A cake becomes an ice cream becomes a chicken becomes a steak. You don’t want things anymore; you just want more. To keep you somewhat satisfied. You want better. To make you excited. But things don’t get better; a cake stays a cake. So all you can do is have more and more, despite the fact that nothing satisfies you. Still I needed the best, of course; that I demanded. I ate a lot and was a very obese kid up to the age of 17. If I failed to achieve something in life,
Don’t remember my early childhood much. There was powerless over them and would avoid them. ?at home, that I know. I was a master at and would get whatever I wanted if I digged into her for long enough. A skill to be proud of? No, because it would never have worked if my mother had possessed the tiniest . Imagine my surprise when these techniques didn’t work in the real world. Imagine the terror I felt when I met later in my life – I was
My grandmother I loved more than my mother for I saw her seldom. She had stayed in the Czech Republic when my mother and father had fled to Germany. There she wasthat my mother had wanted to build. I saw her every few months. Somehow I felt like that was my real home, where I seldom visited, spoke my mother tongue and played out folkish rituals with my neighbors daughters like chasing them with a wood rod to clap their butts on eastern.
At kindergarten, I once raged and ravaged an entire room while other kids watched and the pedagogues let me have my way. I did rage more often, but would be simply overpowered other times. I did socially inept things like touch my nursery teachers breast. Man, I need that confidence back!
The place we lived at in Germany had a high amount of Turkish immigrants and I often got into conflict with them. My first time at school served to gauge my skills, I think. It may have been that day or not when Iinto the head of another kid. I did similar things again and though I don’t remember the reason, I recall that I would . It resonated with something deep inside me and felt right.
Authority is something I never managed to accept. To this day, I have basically not the slightest respect for any but the most basic laws of society and if I can get away with it, I will break rules. On my first regular day at school, I called my female teacher an asshole. She must have dared not to give me the attention I deserved.
I was thrown out of my first school after less than two years, having collected 5 reprimands and one reprimand that was somehow more grave. Basically these werethat said I had behaved wrongly; I can’t recall their significance and they seem laughable to me now. My mother was pretty shocked by them usually – I guess such a conditioning is natural, her having grown up in a state, the Soviet-invaded Czech Republic. I hated getting them for what it would do to my mother, or rather, what effect my mothers bad mood would have on me, not being receptive to my whims.
Having been expelled in my second school year, I “advanced” to a school for people with impaired learning capabilities. There I was king, adding to my vanity. Am I not special. There, I sucked up to some Chinese kid who had all the newest toys. I alwaysand sometimes managed to.
After four years, I easily advanced to grammar school, the highest of three school forms in Germany. After my troublesome childhood and with the trouble at home, the concerned people at the youth welfare service proposed awhere I would spend the week to visit my mother on weekends. It appealed to me because I felt I had a choice. I agreed.
How about you?
What was your childhood like, with or without father?
If he wasn’t there, did you miss him? How did his absence influence you? What do you think would have been different, had he been there?
If he was there, was he a good man? How has his presence made your life better or worse? What do you think would have been different, had he not been there?
I’d love to hear your story and I’m sure other readers would as well. Let’s use this chance to give each other some insight in the many ways life could or could not have turned out, had things been different.