Conglomerate's son

Isolated

I have watched "Born Rich", the 2003 documentary directed by Jamie Johnson, then heir of the Johnson & Johnson fortune, multiple times. But there was so little in it that I could relate.

At the least, Jamie Johnson, or Ivanka Trump, or Georgina Bloomberg, or Cody Franchetti or several others who were interviewed in that documentary were living as their parents' sons and daughters. At least, they were growing up in schools, with friends who became "friends" for whatever reasons. Even in the case of Josiah Hornbower, heir of Vanderbilt/Whitney, where  Josiah first discovered that his family was rich because a middle school classmate happened to loudly read Josiah's father's name out of the list of the richest New Yorkers in a magazine brought from home, having shocked even their home room teacher. Even then, at least, Josiah was going to school and growing up with other kids.

Me?

I grew up within the acres of pine trees surrounding our mansion. The guarded gate was set half a mile out. The entire property was under CCTV surveillance 24/7, even in my bedrooms. People who came in and out were ID'ed and logged. But then again, besides the annually rotated, well-profiled guards, nannies, and house keepers, the only other visitors were my state-certified personal teachers.

Yes, I was home-schooled.

According to the State of New York's Education Department, home-school parents did not have to have credentials to provide instructions. But, I was not that lucky to be taught by my busy, secretive parents. So, my dad made sure to hire only teachers with credentials in all relevant subjects. And some how, I could already swim the length of an adults' swimming pool at 4, master reading music scores and comfortably playing several classical pieces on both the violin and piano at 6, get exposed to different painting techniques at 12, earn a black belt in taekwondo at 14, and finish high school requirements at 15.

All through this time, my friends were my nannies and house keepers. So, I got new friends every year and never saw the old ones again. And it all seemed normal to me, year after year.

My days were rigidly structured. The nannies would come into my room with their own keys to open up the curtain sharply at 6AM. My swimming lesson/session would begin at 6:30AM and end at 7:30AM. Breakfast would be served at 8:00AM and one of the Science teachers would already be in the study at 9:00AM. Lunch would begin at 12:30PM. Social studies begin at 1:30PM. Then, my recreational time between 5:00PM and 7:00PM would involve painting, music, golf, or horseback riding classes. As I got older, baseball and basketball classes were also added into the list of rotating activities. Dinner would end by 8:00PM. Then, I would bathe and get ready for bed. The nannies and house keepers would wish me good night at 9:00PM. I could read, watch TV, or do anything that I wanted til 10:00PM. If I hadn't been sleeping by then, one of the nannies would silently pop their head into my bed room as a reminder. On the weekends, I went on scheduled trips to "explore" famous places. Yet, the private entrances and spaces void of other people made me doubt their popularity. Not until much later did I understand that everything was arranged so I wouldn't be seen by others.

Through all these years, I always got so excited when my birthday approached, awaiting the flight to wherever my parents would send me so we could have our family time together. On each trip, I would be accompanied by the head nanny and one of her assistants along with 3 bodyguards. When we reached our destination, my bodyguards and assistant nanny would be allowed to enjoy their vacation while head nanny and I went to meet my parents with the replacement crew. We would go to a secluded resort.

The moment I got out of the car, my parents would already be standing at the entrance with their arms wide open to embrace me. We got to spent one whole week together, each year. But despite all the wonderful time and things we did together, the 7th day was unfailingly the hardest, for I knew that we would part the next morning.

Somehow, I had mistakenly thought that if I finished high school fast, I would get to live with my parents. So, I tried to master all that were taught. But, that was just my wishful thinking.