When I was born, my parents wept. Not from joy but from horror.
It was January 1 and my father was pissed. "Christ, we lost out on a tax break for last year, and the little shit wasn't even the first born of the year. I got a sinking feeling that this one is a loser."
My mother: "I think you're right. Look at him, just look at him - he already gives off an aura of loser-ville."
My father: "And look at his head, it's pointed for Christ sake. I bet his brain is defective." The forceps squished my head as they dragged me out, and I think my parents were pissed that I obviously did not want to be born. They considered themselves to be model parents, a gift to me and not the other way around.
They were kind of cocky that way.
They did not know what to do with me. They asked the hospital staff if they could just leave me behind when they left. The nurse said "I definitely see why you would want to do that, but unfortunately we have no use for him either. He's gotta go."
My home life was a little weird right off the bat. They stuffed me in a shoe box which they placed in the oven so they would not have to look at me. A couple of times my mother started to pre-heat the oven before quickly remembering I was in there. The screams probably alerted her. Fortunately she reacted fairly quickly and got me out of there. I did not suffer too much damage, except to develop a healthy dislike of warm weather that lasts right up until today.
As I got older they engaged in reality training with me. They'd sit me down and say "Joe, you really suck. You're a loser and you're weak." When I cried, they told me they were not trying to hurt me, they were just trying to prepare me for life. Toughen me up. I was suspicious, but they were my parents. I'm sure they had my best interests at heart.
When I got my own room I quickly noticed that the door locked from the outside. The fact that they would leave me locked in there for three or four days at a time was what tipped me off. Then they would let me out and say "Oh, we're so sorry - we forgot that you were in there." I always thought I heard my mother snickering while my father said this, but she always kept her head turned away.
I would tell them I'm hungry. They would give me a rancid peace of meat and say "Here you go, you ungrateful little shit. Do you think food grows on trees?"
No utensils. I ate with my fingers and wiped clean on my bed sheet. Which would explain why my bed smelled like decomposing flesh. Which explains why I have suffered lifelong insomnia.
It is said one of the most critical stages of learning is from birth to five years old. The first five years of a child's development are crucial to their health and well being.
My parents did the best they could. I've had a lot of time to think about it. Been in prison for over thirty years now. Funny things is, it kind of feels natural.
The door locks from the outside, I'm still eating rancid meat, and the guards kindly remind me that I am a loser, I suck, and I'm weak. Doesn't phase me at all.
The only thing is, my parents have never visited me.
Maybe they forgot that I'm in here.
