Random thoughts of Louie

Mom

I'm not here just to entertain you guys. I'm mean, I'm trying to do that, sure. But mainly, I'm telling you these stories and quirks that I have because I need to vent my mental baggage on people I feel won't judge me for it.

So I'm going to be straight with you.

I fucking hate my mother.

I will now pause for the collective gasps I'm sure will follow that line.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Hey Lou, how could you hate the Della Duck?! She's so amazing!"

Well, I'll tell you.

She left.

I don't care if it was for a good reason or not. I don't care if she was doing it for cash, fame, or even to protect her family. She still left her 3 brand new- eyes still shut levels of new mind you- sons with her twin brother, who lived on a houseboat and didn't have a steady job even at the time, then took off to be a hero. And she didn't come back.

And that decision, no matter the intention, had repercussions.

Uncle Donald never did get a steady job. He had odd ones here and there, and every summer we'd drive around the continent looking for more, but nothing ever lasted more than a month. Mostly because his hours needed to revolve around us and our school days. That's 6 hours a day, and no weekends. That's difficult for a job to feed 4 people. And God forbid any of us got sick, since that would mean Uncle Donald would need a day off to take care of us. It was really difficult and frustrating for him, but he couldn't afford a regular babysitter or daycare, so it was his only option.

Duck tape was our best friend whenever anything broke, from chairs to backpacks to wagons, you name it. It was cheap and worked, at least for a little while.

Dinner was usually frozen meals, fish sticks, pizza, chicken nuggets, that sort of thing. Not even the cool ones shaped like zoo animals the other kids got. Just the boring square ones. Dessert was rare if we had it at all. Lunch was whatever free meal the school offered that day. Breakfast was dry cereal, usually stale, maybe some eggs.

We usually each had one outfit for occasions. One nice button up shirt and tie of our colour, one bathing suit, one pair of pyjamas, and of course, a t-shirt and hat of our colour from the dollar store. It wasn't until we were 8 or 9 that we actually had saved enough of our own money to each pick a different outfit from an actual clothing store.

School was also an issue. Huey and Dewey were able to deal with the few kids who bothered them with little to no issues. But I was the quiet one if you can believe it. At least, when we were little. So that made me the main target in teasing.

The worst part of the bullying though was what the bullies said if I got visibly upset.

I've heard it too many times to forget.

"Go cry to your mommy."

And I know that may not sound that bad, but when you take into account the fact that everyone knew our mom wasn't around, it added insult to injury.

My life sucked.

We were poor.

We were hungry.

I was bullied.

And I didn't have a mommy to cry to about it.

I had to deal with it by myself. I don't care if they're technically older, my brothers were still my age. They couldn't help. Uncle Donald was always either at work, asleep, or stressed by a lack thereof of either. I didn't think my issues were as important as us living. So I stayed quiet.

I cut myself off from my brothers.

I learned to mask my pain with a cool guy/con man persona.

I became the "evil" triplet.

Because of that selfish bitch.

Or, I guess a lack of her.

Even when we did briefly see her again when we were like, 10, I couldn't look her in the eye. I wouldn't be left alone with her. Hell, I flat out refused to call her "mom".

Because she's not my mom.

She may be my biological mother, but she's not my mom.

I don't have one.

And I never will.

So... I wrote this like a month ago and forgot about it. Here!
2 chapters in 1 day, wow.
I guess it makes up for the fact I have exams in 2 weeks and probably won't post in this book until they're done.
Hopefully.
-Anwyn❤️