His Superman (Ambreigns)

Chapter 3

Dean Writing Down His Thoughts

Everything that could go wrong in the house went wrong and my fault. If my father would come home and bring mud on the carpet. Who do you think got blame I did I tried my best to clean it up, but mom came in, and I let her know it was dad.

"It wasn't me," I protest, tears springing to my eyes. " I didn't do it."

"Liar!" Mum yelled, and slap me across the face. "You're always telling lies. I don't know why I have to put up with this. My life would have been so different if only you hadn't been born."

There was no point arguing. She had spoken and that was that.

When our cat escape out the back door just before dad was due to take him to the vets, once again it was my fault.

"You stupid idiot!" Dad screamed and punched me in the head, utterly furious. "I'll never catch him."

I stood there completely speechless and trying to focus after being punched in the head. It took me a few minutes to hear him.

"That's it!" He decreed. "Your not going to your Nan until you find the cat."

When you are blame for things you haven't done, you stop protesting. I wet out in the cold and searched for hours until I found the cat hiding in an outhouse, safe and sound, but I was already to late to got to Nan's house. Then I suppose it must somehow have been my fault.

I hated being different than everyone else. Going to school seeing them with new clothes and toys and me just the same old rags and no toys. My parents got new clothes, but never brought anything new for me. They went for fun picnics and fun day trips, while I was left behind to defend for myself. I accepted that.

I would go to the park and see other parents cuddle their kids and kiss them and say they love them. I never understood why my parents never cuddled me and say they loved me? I craved for their love and approval, but no matter how hard I tried I could never get it.

I was a small child, tiny for my age. I never had a big appetite but I particularly hate green vegetables. Sprouts were the worst ad they made me fell physically sick. Every Sunday, Mum would make a roast and serve it with sprouts or great piles of over-boiled cabbage, then make me sit there until my plateful was all finished.

I would sit and staring at my soggy vegetables, willing myself to eat it all, but I would start to retch as soon as I raised the fork to my mouth. I just couldn't do it. Mum would keep on at me : 'You're not leaving that table till you've eaten it all.' she'd say unkindly, seeming to enjoy my suffering.

I would sit there and not it eat it and my parents made me sit there until I did and I had to pee and wasn't allow to get up. So I became increasingly uncomfortable, crossing my legs to stop myself from wetting myself. They were determine not to let me win, and make noises to make sure I hear water running and I ended peeing myself. I cried, cause I wanted to change so bad, but I wasn't allowed to change.

Mealtime came again and they got a nice new meal and I had to sit here and had the cold greasy soggy sprouts to eat. They looked at me and smile and ate their nice meal. I eventually gave in and choked down the mound of green sludge on my plate. I was then excused, and then ran straight to the bathroom and threw up. After that I ran to my bedroom and cried. My stomach hurt so bad from being empty and upset.

I hope they would have realise how ill this made me, but they didn't. I never lost that one day they might think I wasn't such a bad boy after all, and that maybe they could love me. Oh, how I hoped!

One of my earliest memories I have is of some huge stone steps in front of an official-looking building. I must have been three or four at the time. Years later I found out it was the Department of Social Services. We climbed these steps and went in. My parents talked to the receptionist first, then a lady in a tweed suit came out, hold a booklet in her hand.

"Here's the child," Mum said. "He's all yours. We don't want him so it's up you to take care of him.'

I looked around. Did they mean me? There was no other child in sight.

"We can't take a child just like that. That's not how it works," The lady said, sounding very surprised.

Take me where? No said I was going anywhere. What did she mean? My parents turned and hurried off down the steps,leaving mr behind. "We're not having him back," They shouted. "We've brought him here to you and it's your job to take him off out hands."

I stood in shock and confusion, my face burning bright red. I started crying and knew right then and there my parents will never love me. The woman in the tweed suit kept arguing with my parents as I stared at the ground as my tears fell down. Life was already scary for me at home because I knew my parents hated me, but they were the only parents I had, the only little bit of security. What would happen to me if I were left with the lady? Would she look after me then?

My father seen me crying and punched me in the head closed to my ear "You fucking pussy ass baby, stop your crying.." There was a loud rushing sound in my ears so I didn't hear everything that was said, but eventually my parents must have caved in.