The only thing on that letter made me happy is finally hearing the truth about my farther from you. It all makes sense now, every time I asked you a question about my farther you used to change the subject or started crying. I got the hint of thinking he was dead. I could’ve been a better man if I had a farther to look after me, go to parks with me to play football or at least come to my Progress Review days. I didn’t even know his name, the least you could’ve done is tell me his name.
This is probably is the hardest thing to write about. It’s my childhood. My earliest memory is when I was about four years old. I can remember myself being locked up in that small room just like I’m in now, in a jail. But it was worse, here they give me food, there is light and there is someone to talk to. I know you worked all day, it must’ve been hard for you. I don’t know much about raising a child but I know leaving a child in a dark room for ten hours is not a good way to raise a child.
That room, I hated that room. The only thing that was pleasant in that room was the crusty smell from the bakers below. I still hated it because the noise below annoyed me all day long. The heat from the bakers was so hot it felt like the house was on fire, I couldn’t sit on one place more than ten minutes. When the sun falls down and the shop closes, it would be so quite I could hear spiders crawling and so dark my eyes would dilate more than the cow’s eye. I tried to get used to that room, but as more as I got used to it I hated it more. It’s hard to get used to a place where you can hear mice crawling under your bed when you’re sleeping at night.
It wasn’t just the room and the way you treated me that I hated and made me who I am now. It was the neighbouring kids. Everyone treated me differently, my school, shops, local clubs and no one took me seriously. First, at young age, none of my friends knew about my farther but as I got older they started picking on me realising I wasn’t like them. They used to ask about my dad on purpose to make me feel bad. I felt so inferior. Every time one of those kids comes near me I would move away or just run away to avoid talking to them. But after I realised that I don’t have to walk away, why should I? Next time they made fun of me I got too angry, I grabbed him and I kept hitting him and kicking him till I got tired. His two friends ran like hell crying. From this moment on I never had to listen to their crap. I felt much different, I felt powerful.
Kids in the school were the same but, of course they would shut their mouth and never talk anything about my dad after I broke one of their noses. But it wasn’t enough, there were older kids who still bullied me mentally. For example, in a usual school day a new student came in and sat near me. By the next lesson he new everything about me and pleaded the teacher to move him. This was worse than getting beaten up. I thought this nightmare would never end. I found a solution for that. I didn’t need to come to school. I found out that I could make money by stealing. You wouldn’t know anything about that mum, you would spend the whole day working. You didn’t care anything about me. Thinking all about this reminded me that I never had proper childhood.
I hated school there was no point in me learning anything. There wasn’t any chance of me getting into college, you didn’t have the money. I wasn’t academic at all, I guess you knew that. Just because I didn’t have a farther even the teachers ignored me. If something bad happened I was their number one suspect.
By now you must’ve realised I don’t love you much. I will not come to visit you after I serve my time. Remember mum, there is love in me for you but I guess it’s not enough. You’re right, it’s my move now. I’ll choose it wisely. I wouldn’t want the same for my children. Here they say the maximum I’ll get will be three years. After that I’ll do every thing for the best. But whatever I do I can’t change one thing. I’m a bastard mum, I was born as one. I guess it’s not just my life that got ruined. But the things you said in the letter is just too much.
By mum, I don’t think I‘ll be seeing you again.
Yours sincerely,
Philip.
