If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them. They’re quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father. They’re nice and all—I’m not saying that—but they’re also touchy as hell. Besides, I’m not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I’ll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy.
Last Christmas, a tragedy, a catastrophe, and an apocalyptic event. Many people see Christmas as a joyful event and can’t wait to celebrate it. The chaos that consumed that Christmas insured to ruin yet another holiday. As it may seem, people think it’s my fault what happened to me, all I can say is that my parents had a hand in the downfall of my disaster. There isn’t enough I can say about my parents, but they just wreck my life. I can only wish and hope that my parents process it in their minds what I can go through with their torcher. They are so self centered and only care about them selves, but what about me? Their priorities are not in order, I should be on the very top of the list, but it seems like I’m in their dumps. Enough about them, the Christmas that should have, could have, would have been the greatest, and took a turn for the worst.
Winter break rang in confidence for me. I gave all my boys handshakes and we shared a few laughs. I was excited and anxious. The cold wind couldn’t brace my upbeat mood. I would finally get to spend quality days with my girlfriend. She gave me reason to escape the torment of my parents. She gave me the best gifts anyone could give me. I felt bad I couldn’t get her a present worthy of her; I would if I could, but my parents never gave me an allowance or funding. They were to busy spending the money on them selves buying designer bags or the newest set of golf clubs. Another thing my “wonderful” parents did for me.
A few days before Christmas, the night was cold, and I was home alone. It was a somewhat perfect night to stay home and watch a comforting movie with her, the only person I really cared about. We came close and were snug, protected from the cold under a thick blanket. The front door opens with a burst of cold air. My parents arrived home from their pre-Christmas party as they say. Drunk and unaware, they wrongfully accuse my girlfriend of being a whore and a slut. She busts out the door with tears falling down her face.
The next morning I tried to explain but she had nothing to say. It was over between her and me. I couldn’t believe my parents. Of course my parents awoke with no knowledge of the prior nights events. I began to think this is just a silly excuse they use every time they know they’ve screwed up big time to hide the real truth. Soon they’ll realize the truth, that they ruin the life of their only child. I want to believe that it’s them that have a problem, but sometimes I wonder if it’s really mine. Only time will tell what I don’t understand.