My Broken Childhood
When I was a kid, I remember being happy, wanting to understand why everything was the way it was, full of curiosity and questions. I loved playing outside, I loved my brother and I loved animals. I loved Sunday fishing, car rides and visiting family. I had a vivid imagination that helped me to escape from the reality of my dysfunctional childhood.
My parents had been dating for a while, and then they eloped. My dad decided he wanted to see Sault Ste. Marie. My mom wanted to go, so they got married. They never made it there; they stopped short in North Bay and rented a place. Dad got a job and along came my brother. Mom’s pregnancy was difficult, and she was told not to have any more kids. My Dad refused to have one child, so two and a half years later with much resentment from my mother, I was born; she and I never bonded.
I remember being afraid of my mother when I was young as she was angry a lot. She told me she had me because my father made her and that she never wanted me. I felt like I was a burden, an inconvenience. I understand now that she was angry about her life and her inability to speak up for herself.
When I was about five, my mom was in the living room crying. I asked her what was the matter, and she looked at me and said my dad had slept with his boss’s sister, he may lose his job and she didn’t know if she was going to stay married to him. I remember being scared, not really understanding and thinking I did something wrong to cause this.
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