(Written, 15th Of January, 1998)
- Childhood, that interesting word, that interesting time. To others that word brings up some very special memories, games and some great time. Others on the other hand, think about their childhood with bitterness, their face getting distorted with disgust. Others blame themselves for their unhappy childhood, others would like to strangle their parents so long that they would die, because they couldn't provide a happy childhood. Maybe the family wasn't that rich, or maybe parents, the owners of their children, didn't realize in their ignorance to provide a happy childhood for them. The author himself don't really know in which category he should put himself.
- Sometimes there are nice memories flowing into my mind. Memories about tin soldiers ready to march to the battle on the kitchen table, climbing on the apple tree that was swarming with big black ants, trips to the summer cottage where really wasn't anything else to do than throw some rocks to the lake. Sounds like a lot of fun? Or what do you think? And please don't be worried, the same lake still exist, so I wasn't there that often that I could have block up the whole lake with rocks.
- On the other hand, from my mind, there comes memories that makes me really hate my parents and myself. My parents divorce, from which I don't remember anything else than the drumming from outside. Maybe there was my mother knocking on the window or maybe there was that soldier from 17th century, with his drums and hats that I imagined there in my child mind. Well, who really can tell which one was there? Probably no one.
- I remember those weekend trips to my boozer mother. I can still hear my father repeating the same mantra over and over again: "You must go to visit your mother, because the judge ordered so". And so I spent again another horrible weekend in the shades of liquor bottles and watching my mother drinking with her many boyfriends, who at the time and still do, looked like the devil himself.
- I do not blame those experiences my mother, my father and even not the judge who had ordered this to happen. I have no need to blame anybody, and so I won't do it, although I feel that I would have the right to point a blaming finger to some direction. Maybe it was fate who made this happen, to go through that, the pointing finger of fate, if you want to believe in that.
- Overall I'm somewhat pleased with my childhood, although there is some bitterness inside me, I have to admit that and it has affected to my life quite a bit, to my choices and to my actions, thing that I do not wish to get into at the moment, because that is another story.
- So what is a childhood?
- It's only one word among other words. Nobody probably can't define where this mystical childhood begins and where it ends. Many have tried, but in my opinion those are just another theories and it seems that now days there is a theory about everything.
- I have met people who are in their twenties or in their thirties and they still seem to be living their childhood or at least their mind is childlike, despite of their age. But then again, I have met children, about five, six or seven years old who seem to be at that age so mature and acting like an adults, carrying the burden of the world on their backs.
- Does childhood even exist or is it just created by some "wise" professor, like words puberty, middle-age and old-age. Is there even those kind of form of existence, or are they just created so that a person can always belong to some group, a category. Those are questions that I do not have an ready answers, but everybody can think about this in their own mind.
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