When I was born, my father left the family. Mum raised me on her own. Looking back, I suppose I cant exactly call her a proper parent. For as long as I can remember, she was either under the influence of various substances, vanishing for days, or bringing her so-called friends over.
Up until I was around ten, I genuinely believed it was normal for other children to live the same way. It didnt ever cross my mind that things could be different.
By the time I started secondary school, I began picking up jobs here and there. I just wanted to eat, and in our little village, there were all sorts of ways to earn a couple of quid or a meal in exchange for work.
After I finished school, I tried to find a decent job, but being the child of a poor family, with neither connections nor money well, I had to make do, just as my mother had done.
I never really understood quite how she always managed to scrape together some money. The crumbs I brought home were spent on food. I suppose she preferred it that way, as she never wanted to change anything.
About three years ago, a man started showing up at Mums place more and more often. He looked a bit down and out but didnt seem like a real drunkard. He was generally friendly enough with me, if he noticed me at all. I started to hopemaybe hed have a positive influence on Mum, and perhaps wed move in together and finally escape our miserable life.
It seemed my hopes were answered. After several months of nearly daily visits, he moved in. I never felt any open hostility from him, but he did seem to make an effort not to acknowledge my presence. My troubles really began when I least expected them.
About six months after wed all been living together, I came home one evening with the few pounds Id earnt through hard work. I thought perhaps it might cheer Mum upshed been rather low and bitter of late.
But as soon as I stepped through the door, Mum started shouting that I wasnt welcome anymore and that I had to leave. I couldnt make sense of it at first. Id never given her any reason for such behaviour. Even so, I didnt see much point in arguing. I went to stay with a mate, assuming she was just like that again and it would blow over after a day or two.
But it didntshe threw me out again the next day. Turns out, the man never cared for me from the start and talked Mum into getting rid of me. She listened to him.
And so, thats how I found myself homeless at twenty-one. I live with friends now, who thank goodness are good enough to help and make me feel at home. I get by, just as beforeany way I can.
So, whenever I hear people scolding youngsters for not respecting their parents, I always thinksome of us have our reasons. And, in the end, blood really isnt everything if theres no love or care behind it.
