Don't mind me, I'm just being over-dramatic. Scurry along.
So yesterday I made a point that I was cleaning out my room and moving boxes of junk inside, because my step-mother decided it would be okay to just randomly drop them off at my moms place. One of these boxes was a special kind of pain to drag up the staircase- I've lifted calves lighter than that thing.
Anyway.. I get to the top of the stairs and I open the box; inside are school year books, old composition notebooks, some belts, random toys, and some childhood drawings.
I was looking at these drawings and I realized four-year-olds are [i]idiots[/i].
A fair amount of those papers consisted of comics or themes of heroism in my father/a father-like-figure. After my parents divorce, my dad wasn't around to take care of my brother and I when my mom was drunk; we'd live with her most of the week and visit my father Wednesdays and every other weekend. So all I really understood was that my mom slept a lot when I was at her house, then my dad would pick me up and we'd go to his place and I could eat fresh food and drink water and take a shower.
In short, when I was with him, my basic needs were met. Which is an [i]important [/i] thing, to feed your kid. And doing those things a parent is expected to do is what made me believe that my dad would do anything for me.
Fourteen year later, I'm dragging a giant box that weighs half as much as I do up a flight of stairs by myself because he can't say "no" to his wife.
I get that people aren't perfect. And I'm not really complaining. I just think it's kind of funny how all of this turned out.
Sidenote; look at all the stuff I just carried up the staircase. I feel macho :0
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