You would think that as you grow up, grow older, become wiser that dealing with that which the world throws your way would somehow, ineffably, become easier. You would be more stable, more aware of who you are and where and what you want to be and that knowledge would make your travels through life make more sense. Somehow, though, things aren’t always what you expect.

I don’t have a complete frame of reference so I can’t back up my next statement. But I do believe that being put up for adoption must be one of the most traumatising experiences that any person can face. And somehow it happening to me at the age of 26 hasn’t made it any easier.

I mean, I can’t blame my parents. They’ve done everything in their power to make the transition for me as easy as possible. They went to a great deal of trouble to sit down and explain it to me. Well, okay, so they didn’t actually sit down to explain it. Well I’m not sure. They may have. I wasn’t there. Anyway, the telegram reads: Son ‘stop’. Sorry ‘stop’. But you’re just plain weird and we can’t take it anymore ‘semi-colon’ me and your mother that is ‘stop’. Their grammar was never great.

I’ll treasure that telegram always. They always treated me well, my mom and dad. Stale bread and milk is really the most nourishing way to bring up a child, and it makes sure that you don’t grow up spoiled and bratty, you know, like some kids. Besides, I actually preferred it. Dog biscuits never really did it for me. And the dog and I got along a lot better after we had sorted that one out.

I loved that dog, I remember those playful times with both of us horsing around in the rain, rolling  in the mud. My sister had dibs on the kennel. Boy did she have a nasty bite on her. I loved my sister and I know my mom and dad loved her too. More than me. I still remember the fuss they made of her the day she cornered that burglar in the garage.

And working in a coalmine isn’t that bad. You get that nifty hat with the light. Me and the other kids used to play the ‘Light at the end of the tunnel game.’ Get’s boring after a while though. I’d guess right almost every time. And I got tired of being the youngest kid there.

I’m kidding, of course. There weren’t any coalmines anywhere near us. We lived near farmland. Used to have problems with wild pigs. They were really vicious and the farmer’s rottweilers had gotten to the point where they wouldn’t even leave the farmhouse. So I became a hunter. Takes a while to get the hang of it but once you have it’s not quite so terribly dangerous. Of course, once I had cleared the area of wild pigs the farmer let out the rottweilers. I didn’t have my sharp stick with me having confidently thrown it away.

So the one day, when my sister was bored, she came along for company. I never got bugged by those rottweilers again. All fond memories. But I guess it’s off to a new family now.


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