Whenever, I reflect upon my childhood I find myself continually reflecting on the trauma of growing up in a dysfunctional household. My parents were both young and indifferent. My conception under a bridge just down the road from the local high school, resulted in parents being forced into a marriage that truthfully neither of them wanted, this resulted in a early life where they failed to put me first. Despite understanding the difference between right and wrong they always tended chose the wrong path.
My earliest memory is of Elvis Presley singing “Wooden Heart” over and over again. It was the first time I had seen my mother cry and this would become a regular occurrence throughout my life until I left at fifteen and again at sixteen. It must have been really late this night. I can remember that I had not even started school, that I was still scared of huntsman spiders despite both my Dad and Uncle assuring me they were harmless. Many, thought I was a bit of a sook.
The music and crying was so loud it woke me up. I had a little stuffed koala bear given to me by my Uncle. I remember it fell out of my bed and I stepped on it when I went to investigate. Anyone who knows me will remember how inquisitive I was. I would discover later discover that I broke one of the eyes and that too had consequences.
My mum was in the hallway slumped over the front of the phonogram, playing this 45 over and over again. It would be another ten years and two more homes before I would come to realise that my mum was addict and my father a drunk.
I still remember my mum screaming at me, I couldn’t understand what she was saying at the time, but she was loud & nasty and I do remember that it scared me. It was first night I remember wetting my bed, a problem that would plague me for nearly a year and thanks to cousins this would eventually lead to a hell of lot of humiliation at primary school.
It was a year or two later before I realised what mum was saying to me at the time. My mother was blaming me for her marriage, for her life and what was happening. For many years I believed I was responsible for all the violence, the depression and the anger.
It is funny families fail to intervene, I cannot believe that in this day and age society has not enforced strict early childhood protection strategies. I would be nearly fifteen years old before I would start to recognise that it was not my fault, but lingering doubt would continue to plague me until my late thirties when my hair started to fall out. It is funny how genetics, will put everything back into perspective.