When I was born, my father left the family. My mother raised me and brought me up on her own. I realize now that it was hard to call it upbringing. For as long as I can remember, she was either almost always cheerful. She either disappeared for days or brought a house full of her “friends”.
Until I was about 10 years old, I even thought it was common for other kids to live in the same conditions.
Even when I was in high school, I started working part-time. I wanted to eat, and in the countryside there were all kinds of jobs. Fortunately, my fellow villagers gave me some money or food for helping out around the house.
After school I tried to find a decent job, but a child from a disadvantaged family, without connections and financial opportunities… So I had to make it as best I could. Just like my mother.
I don’t know where she got the money all the time. The crumbs of money I brought home, we spent on food. She must have liked it that way, because she didn’t want to change anything, no matter how much I asked her to.
And about three years ago, a man started coming to my mom’s house more and more…
He looked poor, but he didn’t look like a real drunk. He was friendly to me on the whole, and most of the time he didn’t even notice me. I had already hoped that maybe he would influence my mother to live together and get out of this miserable life.
My hopes did come true. After a few months of almost daily adventures he started to live with us. I did not feel any hostility from him, but I always had the impression that he was trying not to notice me.
Unhappiness came when it was not expected.
After about six months of living together, I came home in the evening, after I had flocked for my neighbor. I brought my hard-earned money. I thought it would cheer my mother up a bit, because lately she had been kind of depressed or embittered…
But no sooner had I entered the house, then from the threshold my mother began to shout that I was no longer welcome here and that I had to get out. I did not understand at first. I did not give my mother any reason for such behavior. But I didn’t see the point in crossing her at that moment. I went to the others to sleep over, and still hoped that she was just “that” again, and after a day or two she would let it go.
But no – the next day I was kicked out again. As it turned out, the man couldn’t stand me from the start and talked my mother into getting rid of me. And she listened to him.
That’s how I became homeless at the age of 21, while my mother was alive. I live with acquaintances who, fortunately, help me and accept me as their own. I earn a living, as I did before – where I have to. So when I read about how people reproach their children for disrespecting their parents, I want to say – some people have a reason for that.
