I’m pretty sure many of you think you had the perfect childhood. Some of you won’t, but many still do. I fall into the luckier category. I would even push it as far as to say I had the best childhood of all.
Those closest to me call me negative amongst some actual positive things. I understand why, but I can’t agree. I am not negative, on the contrary! But maybe it doesn’t show as much as I would like, or maybe it’s because I struggle to express myself. That’s actually a valid point right there, I do struggle to explain myself and many times I just say the wrong thing. I like to provoke and say silly things just to bring out different reactions. But I also sometimes chose to say the negative only to hear the positive argument or reasoning from the other person. If I am positive the other person might just agree, but if I am negative the other person will try to persuade me and therefore use stronger argument to make me feel good. I also think I am cursed. When something good is supposed to happen, if I share this with others, I jinx it. It happens all the time! And whats worse, I can’t keep my mouth shut!
My sis and I have gone through a few bad situations and I am sure those who were there perceive it as awful and enough to put us on the not so lucky list. We lost mum when I was 11, dad got the blame from mum’s family (cos dad is God and can give people cancer), family discussed taking me and sis away from dad as he was “too caught up in work so how could he care for us”, the Swedish newspaper couldn’t get enough writing about dads financial affairs. My mum’s family stopped talking to dad’s family… it goes on! Jeez, adults can be really stupid people. I mean, really. The only adult that actually made us feel safe was dad, and they want to take us away from him. 21 years later we have still not forgotten. We never will.
But before all this we had the privilege to enjoy 10 years of pure happiness! And how many people have lived ten years of pure goodness all in one go?
I had the best time of my life! The best childhood in the world. My sister and I had loads of hobbies and friends to play with. At school we had our school mates and at home we played with our two neighbour sisters. Every year we went on at least one or two holidays abroad. We rode horses, we rode bicycles, climbed trees, picked fruit from other people’s gardens (cos why chose our own), ran from angry old men who caught us in their gardens, investigated construction sites and managed to leave permanent foot prints in their cement floors (now someones house). We ate the best pancakes at my grannies’, and the best ice creams at Pio’s. We swam in the pool at Simstadion, we made snowmen in the garden, we rang door bells and ran. We set dry grass on fire and scared the crap out of ourselves when it spread a little too quick. We played games on the Amiga 500 and Commodore 64. We collected bugs (or was that only me). The winters were actually white and the summers warm.
The fuel to keep up all this fun and play, the key to real happiness, was at home. We lived in a beautiful blue house, generally known as “the Blue House”, cos Swedes are so imaginative. We would come home after a day of mischief and pranks to a delicious smell of dinner, mum and dad looking at us suspiciously, wondering what we had been up to. The dining room set up for four, even sis & I were given wine glasses to drink milk from. Julio Iglesias in the background. Mum and dad are both there. Our family evenings are one of my best memories. The atmosphere is indescribable.
I had everything I could dream of.