With a Little Help from my Friend, Mike. Mike Steeden
Currently, I’m reading a book: “An ‘Old Child’ & his Mum’s amazing Crem Phobia” by Mike Steeden. A great and highly recommended read. I’m reading it and at the same time learn how to write the story of life memories. Of course, I have begun to write mine a long time ago (as you surely have noticed), and now Mike, in this book, shows how wonderful and elegant it can be written, or shows the writing at all. It is clear why: He is a great writer. This book is the fourth book which I read from him: the first one was “Funny, I Think of You Often…” the second one was “Notoriously Naked Flames” and then “The Snow-White Tigress“, and the fourth one is his memories. (I have still more of him to read, and I’ll do it; slowly but surely). All great reads., and I really wonder, how can I, with my littleness, be a friend of such a brilliant writer. (Of course, I have to mention that fate has been more compatible with me! I have already many such brilliant writers at my side, like Shehanne Moore, Deborah Gregory, Ashen Venema, Elaine Mansfield, Chris Hall, Jean Raffa, Jean Lee, and more and more…) I was lucky for sure. Sometimes luck must be a part of life.
But let stay here with Mike. His memories, as a child, tapped on mine, as I was such a shy boy, almost like him.
I think my shyness was because of my mother’s lie: She had hidden the father’s death from us and said that he was travelling. It took me about a year to figure it out myself. That lie had left some deep traces on our soul, though on every one of us in a different way: our father died in the middle of the night when we were sleeping, and Al had immediately noticed in the mornings that something was wrong, he told me later.
I remained a happy child and didn’t see my mother’s over crying eyes. And when our mother said we could go out to stay with our uncle for few days, I was happier as more! That’s why Al had to try finding the balance in between, to keep mother’s secret hidden from me, and not to be shared with her in this. Even though, never found it. For me, as I noticed it later, it made me, slowly and more sadly, lonesome. A better word is; I become unsure and uncertain. It is still with me; the first and forever sign is my speaking: I speak, no matter in any language, not clear and precise. I am unsure in a mass, rather running away.
I have some embarrassing memories. At school, for example: I was always the stupid one and got bullied and mobbed! Once, which I can never forget, I urgently needed to go to the toilet, and the toilet was the only one back in the schoolyard, and as I was inside, noticed that it had no lock on it, so I couldn’t lock it from the inside.
(If you are disgusted by some unpleasant things, please do not read any more!) Anyhow, the mobbers, who never wanted to miss any occasion, have run after me and wanted to come in. Here comes the eternal question: what the hell I didn’t cry out, that I had just to shit! You can never imagine, I bet, what could happen next… I’ve kept silent and hold the door, as if it’d been locked. And the boys kept pushing from the other side. I can’t really explain what was going on in that moments: it just seemed that I didn’t want to reveal my sin (to shit!), and the others wanted to prove that I had nothing to do there, only to occupied the public toilet!
Finally, there was the appalling result: I did all in my trousers and gave up my resistance. When I left the door open, nobody had the interest to come in! The schoolmaster called my mother to come and get me home for changing my trousers!!
I didn’t want to top Mike, though I won, I suppose! Never mind, let’s count it as one more episode. I will read further from the book, and it’d surely come out some more similarities in my mind. Have a wonderful weekend, and thank you all. 🙏💖🤗💖🙏