My Little Story

Not Such A Good Childhood

Well, as you can tell from the title, my childhood wasn't the greatest. Because school was the only thing I really enjoyed, my mother would block the doorway almost every morning if I hadn't gotten my work done the night before. Sometimes I'd get through using the garage door, other times, regrettably, I would use knives to threaten her. Eventually, she would let me go to school. But not without a fight. In the car, she would say, "Why didn't you catch the bus? You know you could have!" In my head, of course, because I didn't want to be yelled at more, I said "Yeah! I could have caught it if you weren't IN MY FREAKING WAY!!"

Another not so good thing about it is that my father had left to go do construction work on the road. He was gone for five years. From when I was 8 to 13. During this time, my mother almost had to go to court because I was so late to school so often. My father did come home some of the time but rather than being able to see him, my mother would make plans for her and me to go somewhere. When we were all under the same roof and my mother had neglected to make previous plans, my father would try to get us to clean the house. Which I certainly understand, as the house was a wreck. But my mother always refused, saying, "It's your mess! You left that there last time you were here and you never picked it up!" I, thinking that my mother was in the right when she wasn't, would agree. My father would then just give up and clean the trash up himself. 

The problem with that was that he works both day and night. Sometimes he would only be able to get 3-4 hours of sleep when he was off work. He was in charge of most of the workers on the job. Which meant he had to watch them work, give them advice, and usually fix things that they did wrong on the job. On top of that, he would drive back home. Sometimes it would take him 20-27 hours to get home. So when he is able to come back, all he wants to do is rest. And what does he have to deal with instead? A family who doesn't appreciate him. 

It wasn't always like that. Before all of that, we were relatively happy. Every summer we would go to Tennessee and stay in a cabin. Even when he was on the road he would come back for about a week so we could go there. One year, we even took my best, and only, friend Ally, and her mum with us. We would sometimes go to the beach, but usually, my mother would take so long to get ready that my father would decide it was too late to go and we would stay home. 

My mother would always spend hours in bed reading her bibles and so I was left to make myself breakfast. I know, it's not that bad. But when you're 8, and you don't know how to cook, and you're not strong enough to carry a milk jug, it's a bit of a problem. So I would wake up at around 8 in the morning, and wait until 1 in the afternoon to eat.