The Life I Almost Lived

Me - One

I am 35 years old as I am writing this.
I am the first born to my parents, two and four years later they had two more children, my siblings; back then two sisters.

My father was born in the early 1950's, abandoned by their mother with his twin brother into a ditch. Was raised in a small village in a foster family, a tough foster family from what I remember being told.
My mother was born in the late 1950's, eldest of the 4 children and the only girl. Raised by strict and loving parents, married till death did them apart.

From what I've been told, my parents met during a summer evening when all the kids from highschool were hanging out at the center of the village. It was a custom to celebrate the weekend. Have a couple of drinks and smoke, be rebellious. I believe mum was around 16 years old and father is 5 years older than her so he was around 21ish. I have not been told exactly, so I am making assumptions. Mum has said that she saw our father getting up from a car, a small mini cooper and he was so tall. He had removed the front seat of the mini to be able to drive the damn thing. He had shoulder long brown hair and steel gray eyes, my mother the opposite with wheat blonde long hair and green eyes.

No one has told much of their younger years, the early dating time or such. I've seen a few old pictures, those old polaroids. Colors faded and corners folded. There was one where mum was sitting on some stairs, holding on to a cider bottle and enjoying the sun. My mum was stunning when she was young, in the glorious 1970's. Bootleg jeans, high heels and long slightly curled hair. Dad was not too shabby either; you could call him handsome. Mum always thought so as far as I know.

I remember mum telling us how they had to get married to be able to get a rent apartment together, there was a rule back then, how no married couples couldn't rent together. How mad is that to think now?
So they got married, practical reasons not because he got her pregnant. Which in a village size like that would've of course been a huge scandal and whatever else at the time.
Mum was 28 when she got pregnant with me, 7 years they tried and I have been told I would have had a brother if she did not have a miscarriage. She never spoke of it much, just twice if I am remembering right.

She nor my dad never really spoke of their youth or their early years of their relationship. Have yours?

She gave birth twice more, at 30 and 32 years old for my younger siblings. Think I already said that though. Didn't I? Yea, Yea I did. My bad. Let's not repeat ourselves more than we need to.
Ok I'm moving on now!

The first memory of mine, or something I think is a memory at least, is from a house my dad built for us. He had his own firm and he got a loan to build a house. A red one level wooden home. It was a lovely house.
It's my dad. I stand at the doorway of my room. I hear him first, shouting again. It is not an unfamiliar noise in the house. Then I hear a bang. Then the broken glass. Then he appears with a shotgun, shoots another set of windows.

And that's where my first memory ends.

The second one is from the same house, but I am running after a ball and I fall. I have a scar from that fall on my right elbow, but I don't remember it hurting.

Do memories erase feelings? Hurt? Anger?
Or do you just... Forget?

---

02/04/24