nb. This is not a sob story, and I expect no sympathy. The consequences of my choices are of my own making. I will live with them. The point of this blog is to get my thoughts and feelings down, so I can reflect on my past. Perhaps others may learn from it.
We lived in relative comfort in my childhood (many moons ago). We never had the best of things, but we had an old Black & White TV; my Step Father had a motorbike; my Mother had a car, and we lived in a simple suburb. There was always food on the table and a warm place to sleep.
As I was growing up, I had some personal issues that would cause me to lash out at those around me. This presented some rather difficult decisions for my Mother and Step Father. I was selfish; demanding; entitled; egotistical and quite arrogant. Schools were frustrated with my attitude and non compliance with the rules, and I was routinely given detention or suspended.
I ruined friendships quickly and frequently. To this day, I have no-one from my childhood that I can call a friend.
After a few years of having to deal with my attitude, my poor Mother was caught in a situation where she had to choose between me and her failing marriage, a failing of which I was definitely a contributing factor. As she should have, she chose her own happiness and I was sent to live with my real Father.
I was not prepared for the world that awaited me.
My Father and his partner were living in a very poverty stricken town, with high unemployment rates and an extreme level of crime (though rather benign by today's standards).
The house they lived in was rented and falling apart. He had a patched together car, and was constantly out of work. They got by on government pensions, grants and get rich quick schemes.
Structurally, there was nothing wrong with the house. It kept the weather out, and the warmth in. That's about all I can say was good about it. On the up side, we had a garage. Many did not. The house was filled to the brim with bric-a-brac, and photos of years gone by. Nothing was new or up to date, everything was well worn and probably donated by other family members.
There was a real culture shock as well. My Mother and her partner were quintessential Caucasian suburbanites, where my Father was more of a native stereotype. The families were also very different. Where my Mothers family where spaced out across the country, my Fathers were almost living on each others door steps (some actually did).
My Father and his partner had two children. One half my age, and the other still an infant.
I choose to believe that this is when I finally started to grow up, at the expense of a myriad of failed choices.
My next blog will explore those choices and how they affected me, my family and the years following.
Stay Tuned!
