BENJI. (a guide to being normal)

Fondly, Benji Dore

I'm sure you're wondering about my childhood. I'd like to tell you, but I'm not gonna. I'm sure from my denial, you think I had a rubbish childhood. I did, sort of, but what can I say? Can't change it. My mum is a wonderful person, remembered my birthdays and made them the most special times of year. We'd go on holiday to the countryside and stare at sheep, it was actually lovier than you think. I am the only child, well, I had an older sister who died in an automobile collision. But I was too young to remember her.

My father was once a nice man. Until he took to drinking and snogging every woman he met at the pub. My mum put up with him, probably because he was all she had. I don't if my telling this part of my life is worth it since a lot of children and adults have gone through a broken relationship. It's almost like it wouldn't hit you like it did me. It'll go over your head, triggering the polite response which is always, "I'm sorry to hear that. It'll get better, I promise." But that's just it, it hasn't. The rejection left this peculiar scar in my soul that I could've prevented him from being such a irresponsible bloke. I know that's a common symptom: feeling like it's your fault. But you can't help it when you're old enough to know you can change things, but young enough to be afraid to do so.

When I say my father was "once" a nice man, I mean to say that he treated my mother with respect and took care of us. But then when he started seeing other women, he became sullen, quick to insult and defend. My mum predicted what he was up to, and the one time she confronted him, he hit her. I was twelve. I remember hearing flesh smack against flesh and my mother falling backwards against the counter. Her hand against her swelling cheek. He then turned to me and threatened to get rid of me if I told anyone. I was twelve, of course I believed he would. Though, now I know he was threatening. He threatened a lot when he drank.

He boxed me several times when I dared to slip in a cheeky word or two. Only one time did he actually beat me senseless and my mum came to the rescue. I almost lost her that night, and that was when I knew I had to call for help. The police officers arrived, took me a way to a boy's home (I was thirteen), and took my dad to prison. I didn't see my mum for a long time until she visited. She didn't look the same. My father had ruined her pretty little nose, her delicate eyes, and smile. She lost that beaming disposition I looked forward to every day after school or before bedtime. But she had changed. I knew she loved me, but she loved me from a far. When she left the home, I didn't realise until later that she had signed me off to them.

They sent me to school where I met Copper. I suppose that's when my life changed for the good. We became steadfast friends and every skeleton in our closets were revealed with bold vulnerability. When I told Copper my story, I remember he cried and gave me an embrace like a brother. He kept crying, and I finally had to ask him why he was so upset, he then told me that his father had suffered from depression, and even though he never got a beating, he was the scapegoat whenever his father needed to vent. Copper told me how every night, he patiently listened to his father's awful, dark thoughts. He told me how his father wanted to die and how he wanted to do so. I felt very sorry for Copper, and I asked him why he was drawn to me when I was just as broken and depressed as his father.

He told me, with his strong west London accent, "Unlike 'im, there's 'ope for you."

I cried more after and then we went to the shop and bought ourselves a 99, or, "ice cream" if you're American. We call them "ice cream" here as well, but we thought it sounded cooler to refer to them as "99." Copper has been the best person ever placed in my life. He took over the sibling and father role even though I was biologically older than him. But it didn't matter, we were the other half we both needed. Well, that is my childhood in a nutshell. I know I told you I wouldn't, but I changed my mind.

Fondly,

Benji Dore