Christmas Eve with a Twist

It was Christmas holiday's again and I was on my way up north for the three hour journey to visit my father. I was bored listening to music on the train just waiting for the time to just pass by. Arriving at Central, I walked up the stairs to check the television screens for the next train north again to Burpengary. I felt like nothing could slip me out of this boredom because of how many times I'd made this train trip before, not only to visit my father and brother but to visit old friends from where I used to go to school in Morayfield and Burpengary Primary School friends. Even the music I was listening to didn't feel fresh any more, like it had been around for a few decades, yet surely enough I arrived in Burpengary two and a half hours later. I called my father to see who was picking me up and it was my brother and his friend. This friend of his was always by his side; at school, even though he left during grade nine, work and home. They were and still are inseperable. The pair picked me up from the train station we chatted for a bit and then they rabbled on about cars and work like I wasn't there as per usual. I was used to it by now and tried my best to listen through the loud radio but to no avail. Noticably they picked me up in my father's car again; I knew this meant he'd lost his license again. He once told me "I'm too drunk to walk so I'll drive." I never got in the car with him when he was like this, the pub or tavern we were at was never far from home so I would just walk. It always made me wonder how someone, anyone, could be so careless. It was about a thiry minute trip to Toorbul and when I got there they'd moved house again. This was the third time they had moved in the same suburb. My father was living with his girlfriend, her son, my brother and my brother's friend. I stayed there for about a week and more happened in that time then I thought it ever possible in such a small town. The house was now literally only twenty metres from the pub and corner store. I wondered if it was even plausible to get a house any closer to it. I was still on the whole against drinking trip when I was around my father so he thought better of me and so he didn't make any comments to pressure me into over stepping my morals. We were sitting in having a quiet red rooster dinner on the second night there when his girlfriend's son said he was going down to the park for a drink with some friends. Per usual my brother made some snide comment about his social life with jail bait when he had no excuse himself if I had made a similar comment to him. I didn't bother. I just sat there in silence most of the time asking about what they had been up to or what was going on in their life. When my brother responded obnociously he just denoted the town we were in telling me nothing interesting goes on here, yet after that night I thought that was a complete lie. Dad had a beer in his hand when I saw him first. He was working on his old sixties shovel harley, until his girlfriend walked in with dinner. This man was the kind of man who wouldn't cook for himself, clean or do anything other than the stereotypical "manly" chores like mowing. His girlfriend joked and told him if he wanted food to get up and get it for himself but he always snubbed the idea completely and told her "there's a steak and eggs in every can." When those words came out she generally gave up on the arguement and even got up to get him dinner. She knew he wouldn't eat if she didn't get the food for him, even though it was takeaways and all he had to do was get up and put the food on a plate. We sat around just watching television that night until about nine o'clock when her son burst through the back door and told us some guy king hit him from behind down at the park. My brother didn't even stop to listen to the rest of what happened. He was up and out of his seat like a rocket on launch day. His ADHD. kicked in and he was running as fast as his legs could carry him down to the park across from the corner store. By the time the rest of us had listened to my father's girlfriend's son's story we were all jogging down to the park to see what my brother had found out. There were ten or so kids standing around him while my brother held this one sixteen year old kid up by the scruff of his neck. I was surprised he could even do that. He was a scrawny, skin and bones, kind of guy but somehow when his ADHD kicked in it was like he had super strength. He was raging at this point like an unstoppable beast, he cared for my Dad's girlfriends son and this was his way of showing it. I kept quiet and conceeded as always.At the time my father started questioning them. They weren't telling us anything, only giving us bogas answers, of use because they simply didn't want to get involved or have the rain pouring down on them. Since he was king hit from behind he didn't even know his attacker. Surprisingly enough being such a big guy, six foot tall, chubby but full of muscle, he went down with one hit. I ended up being forced by conciousness, of being left alone, to go with them in the car searching for this kid. I knew if I didn't go with them it would mean I didn't care and they were now part of the family. Supporting family when thing's like this happen is everything to them. It's just not the kind of support that was necessary, I thought. The first thing I would have done if I wasn't with them would have been to call the cpolice. My brother was wanted by the police and always hid when they rocked up. He was lucky one time they came looking for him when they were in the middle of moving house. My father answered the door and he was at the new house moving furniture inside. He told them he wasn't there and said nothing else. I was only told about this later that night when my father's girlfriend called the police. We were driving around pointlessly searching. We were searching for someone and we didn't even know what he looked like. Managing to get more infomation out of a startled sixteen year old, we found the house of whom he thought had attacked him. My brother walked up to the edge of the road and started yelling profanities and taunting them to come out. When he did this everyone in the backyard scattered, obvious enough to prove their guilt. Five minutes later he realized he wasn't getting anywhere and my father showed up with his girlfriend and her brother and son. I was leaning against my brother's friends car watching it unfold, thinking and contemplating but completely relaxed with the situation, while my father walked onto their property and knocked on the door and calmy told them loud enough for the people inside the house to hear that he just wanted to know who hit his girlfriend's son. They denied all presence and responsibilty to the attack even after the son said he had spotted the guy who hit him in their backyard yet he wasn't entirely sure. My father knew this was pointless and just told us all to go home. No-one in the house felt comfortable in their seats that night. My father and his girlfriend's brother sat out on the front porch for most of the night drinking steadily while I sat on the edge of the porch listening and making the occasional comment on what they were saying. Every so often the conversation would skip back to this evening's events and then change topic again. The brother then spotted a kid slowly walking, trying to be stealthy, hiding behind a power pole. He had something hidden behind his back and at this stage we couldn't tell what it was. As soon as he was spotted word was spread quietly through the house and it was like awakening a lion, you just don't want to do it, everyone was out front of the house within seconds weapons of choice in hand. I didn't even know there were weapons in the house. I was shocked for some reason, even though I shouldn't have been. My father walked quietly and alone with the rest of the family including myself about twenty metres behind him in the shadows as not to be seen. The kid would have been on drugs or something because he didn't notice a man as brightly white skinned as my Dad walking right up to him. He started asking him why he was here, what was he doing and what was he hiding behind his back. Logically all of us knew it wasn't a gun just because of his age and who he hung around. Nothing slips past word of mouth in a small out of the way town. Dad just walked closer and closer to the pole, he attempted to jump out and hit him as soon as he got close enough but his hand was grabbed nearly instantly and stripped of a tiny hard-wood bat. He was picked up and put on the ground and held there. He continued to be questioned but wouldn't answer because he was afraid for his life. My brother was amped up now and started yelling at him aswell and threatening him. Soon after he started abusing the kid about ten more people walked out from behind a fence over a hundred metres up the road. Meanwhile my father just let the kid go. Not before taking his new little wooden bat. They started throwing objects and hurling insults to no affect on my father, since he just walked back to the porch and sipped his beer, my brother kept throwing the insults and profanities right back. I didn't think there was much point to all this so I just sat back and watched. It was the girlfriend's turn to speak on behalf of her son and she told them off for what they had started and they all kept on denying it. It took a while, knowing they wouldn't do anything, she started walking closer and closer to them and as she did they back up. No-one fought with this woman when she was mad. No-one. She ended up getting them to leave without anymore damage done. She then walked back inside the house and called the police. Being so far away from civilization meant the police took about an hour to get there and when they arrived my brother was no where to be seen. I couldn't even find him. His friend just waited in his room and hid anything they could be convicted for having in the house. She answered all the questions and told them what had happened and led them to the opposing family's house. The police came back one last time about half an hour later to tell us what we should have done in the future. The police knew full well it wouldn't be done but they were obligated to tell us. She then sent my brother's friend to look for him. None of us would have had any idea where he ran to but he even didn't know. He came back very late that night went into his room and slept. In that time we were all sitting on the front porch waiting, watching and talking. The son was back under the hammer about what he knew and was being pryed for more infomation that he didn't have or couldn't remember. That was my seventeenth Christmas Eve with the family...The next day felt like everything was forgotten during not even eight hours sleep. There were presents to be given and chocolates to be eaten. My brother and I spent Christmas morning opening presents and sitting in front of the television watching day time programming and eating chocolate. Since it was Christmas there was not much on other than Christmas shows, Christian shows or bad Christmas movies. At about eleven we all gathered into the car and headed to the girlfriends parent's place. It took us another thirty minute drive into Morayfield from Toorbul but it was worth it. At first I felt out of place not knowing any of the people around me but I soon settled in and was laughing at conversation and enjoying myself. I was still feeling a little on edge about the night before so it took me a while longer then everyone else to join in. The food was mediocre and it didn't matter because I was there for my family. We spent a couple hours there meeting people and chatting with relatives of my Dad's girlfriend. The rest of the day was spent watching television until we all went down to the pub for dinner and drinks in the park with the neighbourhood. By the time it came to go home I didn't want to leave though I never said anything. I felt unsupressed here, away from stress and responsibilities and I think my father could see that. He never said anything either. We just shook hands and told me if I needed anything he was only a phone call away.

Respect, Understanding and Celebrations of a Different Kind

I was up at my father's place for christmas holidays spending some of my respite time away when we heard the news. My fathers's friend we had known since we were little from camping trips around the Murray River had been sick for a long time. His wife was and still is a lovely woman; as genuine as they come. He had two daughters from a previous marriage but she still loved those kids like they were her own. My father was one of the first she called to tell the news after his passing and after hearing the news of a great childhood friend's passing third hand from my Dad. I wanted to be there for both him and my father. The funeral was only weeks away. My half-brother took time off work to drive us both down to Mildura where the proceedings were held because my father had lost his license once again. This was the first funeral I had been to where I truly understood what was happening and what had happened. It was a long journey by car over two days, arriving there late on the second day to organise what had to be done and who was doing it. My father ofcourse being a lifetime friend was a lead Pallbearer on the right-hand side. The journey down was quiet and eerie, none of us spoke anymore than was necessary to avoid sparking emotions, atleast that's what I felt was the reason. My half brother didn't know this man. I'm not sure he had even met him before. All he knew was Dad had no license to drive to his best friend's funeral so he concentrated on getting us there as quickly as the speed limit would allow. I'd made this trip a few time's before and only once for a funeral I didn't understand at all. I bought straight black suit pants and a long sleeved black collared shirt with black dress shoes for the occasion. Only to find out on the day my father had forgotten to mention the dress code was a flannolet shirt and blue jeans. I always thought he made it his business to make me look worse in some way to my brother. He was what felt like god in my father's eyes. I remember before the funeral the first place we went to visit was my fathers friend's place to see his widow and give them our condolences. We had no idea if she'd even be home but that didn't matter. We walked around the back of the house, any friend that knows what's what knows to walk around the back of the house and knock at the back door. There was a sigh of relief eminating from all three of us when no-one answered after five minutes. I asked my father where to go next, he just nodded and said to go to our Aunty's house in Merbein. It took us what felt like half an hour's drive to get anywhere we were going. That night we stayed at my Aunty's place. Dad stayed up late drinking with his sister's husband and my half brother. I was only sixteen and had to choose not to drink like I wasn't normal or something. I was feeling anxious about the proceedings that were happening the next day. We had barely made it there in time because I knew my Dad didn't want to stick around for long enough to see more than he needed or wanted to. He was what felt like to me a cold and lonley-hearted man that I had never had a proper conversation with. He never spoke to me more than he needed to either. I was the one always asking questions about him and never getting a real response. He kept everything to himself and never held on to the past yet it shaped him completely. This funeral was un-like any other I'd been to. This was a gathering of my whole family on my father's side, friends and relatives of the deceased. It was huge. There had to be atleast five hundred people there that this man had enough of an affect on for these people to come to his funeral. The loss of this man I barely knew had taken more of an affect on me than the loss of my own Grandpa. This man was willing and gave me the chance to learn from him and enjoy his company. I felt when my Grandpa was around he barely even wanted us to be there. I felt the time I spent with this man, my father's friend, was valuable and I looked up to him. He took my brother and I camping on nearly every occasion we visited Mildura. My most treasured memory of him was going yabbi potting in his secret location. The next day we cooked up a huge feast of yabbis in a pot of boiling water and ate them for dinner between his partner, two daughters, my brother, father and I. It was and still is the best meal of my life. Not only for the food but the atmosphere that surrounded us. Tents, campfire, tall tales, family and family friends in an area so serene and untouched by man that we were the only people around for miles and kangaroos of a morning as far as the eye could see. This is one of my most cherished memories and for this I thanked him in my own mind. The proceedings were performed and my father was asked to speak. On the way down to Mildura he was trying to figure out what to write, silently without asking for help. We never even knew he was writing it until he told us when we stopped for the night at a motel on the way there. He spoke of his adventures into the Northern Territory with him and his childhood with this man I only knew as my father's best friend. This was the first time I had heard more than a few words on the subject and at most this was a couple of sentences. With so little words spoken, I felt like I knew him a thousand times better than before. This was one man my father cared about enough to drop what he was doing, get leave from work for a week and organize for two of his sons to keep him company on an emotionally exhausting journey for him. The proceedings continued on and few stood up to speak; both of his daughters were the last to speak before the funeral ended. He was to be buried in the same cemetery as my Grandpa and only relatives and close friends were to be present, my father among them. We watched and bowed our heads in memory as the mahogany coffin, with a hand painted mural of the Murray Darling River where he used to fish as a kid draped on the side, was slowly lowered into the grave. His life partner then spoke these words, "my best friend, my partner, whom I love and will always love shall be cherished by all those who paid their respects and tributes today and many who could not make it here, all I ask is that we do not delve deep into sadness and memories but live on, enjoy life and make this a celebration; do not shed your tears. My daughters and I want you to join us in celebration of his death, this is not a time to mourn but let it be a celebration of his life. We call upon you to join us at the wake and enjoy yourself in his memory." Those words I will remember as they have taught me that sorrow of passing is not how I want my funeral to be either. We continued to the wake after a few quiet spoken words with the widow, our close friend and a great woman in not only my eyes but many others. I got the chance to hug her and her daughters and wish them my best; I remember distinctly being asked if my brother who could not make it if he still had a crush on the eldest daughter. I couldn't help but smile and say to them that he did. The wake was held in the local dirtbike racing club where the deceased raced as a child. This brought back memories of my own when I was brought there by my father when there were races that my cousins were participating in. I talked for a long time catching up on things with people whom I hadn't seen in years, having a quiet drink of coke and some nibblies. My father introduced me to basically everyone that afternoon. Most people there I had met when I was still a toddler and couldn't remember any of them. There were even a few others with my father's name. I understood now the unspoken tradition of our first born son's name, what it meant and why I would want my own first born son's name to be the same. Even after the words spoken by this woman I felt so much respect for; I could not get past the sorrow of such a great mentor and friend. The wake went on into the evening until about five. By this time my father was fairly drunk and was offered to join the continued celebration back at her place. My half brother was the designated driver and was just enjoying meeting more and more of his relatives. Meanwhile I was just a kid and I wasn't drinking. Again I was offered to drink at the celebration's but I chose not to as I knew it would only make me feel worse. We only stayed there for about an hour or two because my father wanted to be among people he knew that night. The people invited to the celebrations at her place were not people he knew at all. We only knew the widow and two daughters. We stayed in town for the next day aswell. We visited a few taverns catching up with more of my father's friends and he did more drinking. It came to the evening when he visited a closer friend out in the bush. I didn't know who this man was and I felt uncomfortable around my father's friends. He then asked his friend if he would like to visit his father's, my Grandpa, grave. I was extremely surprised because I knew my Dad didn't have much time for his own father and vice versa. Yet in death he felt more obligated to see him. I felt uneasy walking through the cemetery but I suspected that was normal and stuck close to my half brother. We found the grave-site fairly easily and there were no words spoken. Just a silence out of respect I believed. I kept silent aswell to not anger my Dad. I still don't really understand the relationship they had and I doubt I will any time soon.

Blinded by Care

We stayed at the house in Kingscliffe for twelve months before we could find a house elsewhere. Meanwhile my mother was going through a breakup with her now ex man. He was still calling her and trying to "work things out" but I had backed her up on this decision and whenever I seemed to do that the decision was final. I approved of her decision and helped her deal with it. She tried to hide the fact that he was coming around to our house uninvited but I always knew he wasn't welcome anymore. I could see it in her eyes and facial expression, he was not wanted. I walked up to him and blaitently asked him;"Why are you still following my mother around like a lost dog? She's made her decision, just leave." Ofcourse I would have never said that in front of my mother so I made she we were in the loungeroom and she was in her bedroom at the time doing some menial task. He got angry after that and left before my mother even came back out. He gave me a weird feeling that this wasn't over when he left. It wasn't. He would still come back and harrass us even if he didn't come inside the house, he would wait just around the corner in his car, watching. I would never even thought it was possible to stalk someone at the time. To me, this man was just not wanted around here anymore and I felt the need to keep him away from my mother. His daughters were sending my mother messages from him to my mother through me at school. Messages that never got through. He wouldn't stop, he was like a man obsessed I thought. It made me angry and sad at the same; angry that he would use children to do his bidding for what he claimed to be "love" when in fact he was only after our money to pay off his millions in debt. We ofcourse didn't have millions, he just wanted the money no matter how small amount it was in comparison, sad for what it was doing to my mother, I felt helpless in all this, the man wouldn't leave her alone and any time his daughters gave me a message, I told them what I always told them, that she didn't love him anymore and to leave us both alone. Those twelve months went by slowly and for the most part, harder than they should have been. My mother had nine pulminary embilisms of the lung and five lung collapses by this time and she did not need the extra stress of a stalker. We were moving again and this time it was different. I was still doing most of the work for the move, lifting things that I could barely get off the ground and moving them about into trailers and off of trailers again. Yet this time I wasn't allowed to tell anyone where we were going. When friend's asked where I was moving to I wasn't allowed to tell them. Then ofcourse they would ask why. Again I couldn't say. This pushed me further away from the friends I had made and it made them think I didn't trust the so few friends I had made in my eighteen months there. We a few weeks this time to move. During these weeks my mother's arthritus in her knee was under great strain. We moved to Robina in a hope my mother would be close to a long standing friend and away from her ex. During these trips we were so focused on what we were doing to get away we didn't even think to check in the rear-view mirror to see if he was following us at any stage. Yet we found out later this was the only way he could have found out where we were living. We'd just settled in to the new house and I had started fresh at a new school for a third time. I didn't want to leave Kingscliffe because I'd just really settled in there and found who my friends were. This made it even harder for my mother to leave but she knew we had to get away. Just after things in the new house had settled the harrassment started again. I never really saw any of this happening. Any time my mother would suggest that something was wrong I didn't believe her after going outside so many times in the middle of the night to find no-one there. I started believing her when I randomly began going for walks to find out what was about in this town. One morning I walked out the front door to see the man we hated with so much disdain parked at the end of the street in his poorly maintained imported van. He was out of the van and walking towards the house. He saw me and ran back to his car and drove off. I was scared now. I thought to myself; How is it even humanly possible to do something like this to someone. After that incident he changed cars to a white ute. The attacks of harassment came more frequently after that. Most nights my mother would scream and yell for help and I would come into her room and try my best to calm her down. That was my main focus. I had trouble even believing something like this was going on. The man was shining torches into her room of a night time. Things around the house felt like they were going missing and we would find them in an odd place maybe a week or two later. For example; an ash tray went missing and was found two weeks later in the garage. This man was making my mother crazy and I wanted nothing more than for him to stop. Finally I broke down half way through grade 10. I couldn't handle it anymore, something had to be done. We didn't feel safe in our own home anymore. We had deadbolts and new security screens fitted but that wasn't enough. Locks were changed aswell. We had our bathroom window broken into one night. My mother began conjuring up paranoid schemes in her own mind that things were going to happen. She thought on my birthday my father was going to come down and take me away from her. I put my foot down that day and rose my voice. "I'm not going anywhere mum, I'm going to go give my Dad his Christmas present and he's going to give me and I'm going to come back to you within half an hour." She really did not want me to go. She actually thought he would do it. I'd been living with her for the past two and a bit years and helped her through all of it. I wasn't going anywhere. I went to my Dad's car and told him how things were. Exchanged gifts, my brother was there too. It had been a fairly long time since I'd seen either of them. I was glad they were there. Even though I had to ask the question; "Are you going to take me away from my mum?" He answered honestly without hesitation and with what I know now as the truth. He was not going to take me away at all unless I wanted to come with him. I told him I didn't, not while my mother needed help still. He understood well and we hugged and he wished me good luck and offered me any help I needed. I was back home within half an hour even though he wanted to spend some time with me that day. My mother waited what felt like right behind the door to open it just as I got there. She wanted to make sure I got back safely and came back at all. She was frantic when I opened the door and I told her everything and tried my best to calm her down. In the weeks to come she wanted to start going for short walks again. Her arthritus was giving her too much pain, we could only go for short 10-20 min walks. She used these walks to tell me of her paranoid feelings and what she thought was happening. Ofcourse a lot of it was not true but I made sure I listened intently to the things related to her ex stalking her. I noted in my mind every detail so I could try and work out something to catch him. Alas I got no-where my feeble 14 yr old mind was no where near capable of figuring out how to catch a stalker. I wanted to call the police but she wouldn't let me, she believed that if I called them they would just say she's crazy. It took me until the september holidays of grade ten to realize my home life was going from wild to manic on a daily basis. I needed something done about this. I had to help my mum. I love her and I did not want to see her like this. The next night the stalker came with a torch again she screamed and I ran outside as quickly as I could to try and catch him in the act but the torch was off and he was running and hopped the fence. I couldn't see anyone even with all of the outside lights turned on. I ran to check around the corner for a car. I didn't know at this time he had changed to a white ute. I saw the white ute and walked right past it looking for his van and it was no-where to be seen. So I walked back into the house. Frustrated, angry, upset, annoyed. I felt again so helpless to do anything. My mother and I had a discussion that night, this was the hardest most trying night of my life. I told her that she needed to get help. I told her that I couldn't stand seeing her like this. I told her how it was affecting me being so emotionally drained all the time. I was passing out asleep at school mentally exhausted. Nothing that year was sinking in and I was either failing subjects or getting a barely satisfactory mark. That weekend I just needed to get away so I went to my friend's place. Before going there I had no idea just how long I would be staying there. I got a call from the hospital to tell me my mother had admitted herself to the mental ward for assessment. I was happy for her yet extremely sad at the same time. Happy that she was finally getting help and sad that I wouldn't be able to see her everyday. My friend stayed by my side with his mother for the whole two week holidays. We were paying his mother money for all of her help and feeding me. On top of the bills and rent for the house we were renting. He did his best to take my mind off of what was going on. The two weeks came and went and I saw her once in that time. The doctors were not going to let her out just yet. I had to go back to school and my friend's mum couldn't handle me aswell. She had enough on her plate already. I missed them. I missed my friend's family. They were and still are lovely people, they didn't always have a quiet time but in the end they got along. By this time I just wanted my mother back and I knew it was me who sent her away for help. My aunty flew down from Mackay for two weeks to look after me and sort our financial situation out properly. The large sum left over from selling our house had dwindled down to only ten thousand dollars. We had to spend it wisely. From then on it was the necessities we bought and that was all. I started school again that term though my mind was never on my work. I felt obligated to go and see her. I missed her so much. She was away for approximately another two weeks. In that time my aunty began to tell me of what she noticed had changed in my mothers mental state and her preconceptions of things that had happened before her time were quite different to what my aunt had known. When she came back I felt something was different about her. She was deemed sane and we decided together that we needed to move and leave the memories of that house behind.

When I Started to Care

My Mother was one of those people that were never content with life, yet was always striving to better life for the ones she loved. She worked sixteen or eighteen hours a day just to have an extra day on the weekend for me and my brother instead of going into work Saturday like she was contracted to do so. We didn't realize it at the time but she was unbelievably good to us. She started getting sick. I remember her getting sick, going to the hospital and doctors only to send her to work the next day but she was still sick. My first relization of just how sick she was happened when I was in her charge for the week. I was spending the weekend at my friend's place in the suburb south of where we lived. My mother had fainted from loss of oxygen to the brain when she got up from sitting at hte computer working. She'd fallen and hit her head on the way down. Half of her face was swollen from where her head hit the corner of the desk... Meanwhile it was still Saturday and I was having fun at a friend's place, completely ooblivious to what was going on. I had forgotten to charge my pone and as a result I never heard from home. Sunday came and it was about midday when I asked to borrow their home phone since my battery was dead. I dialled home and my brother answered the phone, obviously distressed. He told me to come home as soon as possible but wouldn't mention what was wrong other than that I needed to come home right away because it was an emergency. I told my friend and his family what I knew and they took me home right then and there. When I'd made the ten minute journey which seemed like hours. My brother answered the door and looked as if he'd seen a ghost. By which time my heart was racing, anxiously wanting to know what was going on. Then he immediately took me to my mother and had shown me what had happened. When I saw her bruised and swollen face my jaw dropped...I was speechless, mortified that I wasn't there when it had happened. I didn't know what I could have done to help or prevent it. I was angry with myself not only for not being there, also for my family not being able to contact me. I felt so helpless, I just wished I was there no matter how much my mother told me there was nothing I could have done at the time. It made me grip the idea tighter in my own mind. Just not being there was enough to run a whirlpool of emotions through my head that were inconcieveable at the time. Let alone not hearing about it until the day after. It was then I truly started looking out and caring for my mother even though it may have been subconciously until the years to come.

Starting When I was Twelve

I was twelve. We were moving house and to me it felt just like any other time we were moving with my Dad. Except, it wasn't with my Dad. My mum had been trying to sell our house for a long time, she had it on the market here and there to see what price she could get for it. I never really took much notice of it. I just thought it was just one of her phases. Where she couldn't see a way out of the financial situation we were in. So I just assumed it wasn't going to happen. Life would soon be back to normal and we would figure things out. In a sense I just wanted to stay completely oblivious to the fact. Things were different this time though, she was sick and not getting any better. That fact had not sunk in yet and I thought she would be up and running about in no time but this was not the case. We were going to sell the house and we were going to move. She began to tell me over time that she had been talking to a man over the internet whom had offered for us to come stay with him for a small time. While we got things sorted. I didn't even stop to think of just how far we were moving or really even where we were going. All I knew was that I wanted to stay just where I was, with everything how it was. I resented the fact that we were moving away from everything I knew, where I'd been so comfortable yet so... how do I put it. Oblivious to the outside world. There was nothing more I needed than home and a life I knew. Yet it would have been impossible for us to stay there. She held out as long as she could. Renovating and changing the house ready for market, she knew what price she wanted for the house and she was going to get it or as close to it as possible. It took longer than she had planned and cost even more. It was taking a toll on her that I felt only once for a week out of three weeks. The time we spent with her was the best. Greater than the best and I always wished I never had to go. It was like having two lives, one I spent under my father's thumb, widdling at his every command and beckoning call and the other was filled with joy, love, hope and fun. Oh what fun it was. She never tried to compete with Dad the way he thought she did. She simply loved us and wanted what was best for us. There came a time when we were packed and ready to go, she sat us down with our father and they began telling us our options like it was buying and selling shares at the trade market. There was no second thought for me, there was always one who I knew loved me more, who knew would care for me when I was sick and I knew would help me when I was down. There was no second option in my mind. I believed in myself and I knew he didn't believe in me. Even though I felt this way it was not an easy choice to make and I flat out told them both without hesitation I would go with my mum. All of our belongings were placed in storage for more than it would cost to rent a house the area. The old house was sold and we were to move a three hour journey south to Kingscliffe, our new home. The man whom she had been talking to on the internet for quite some time seemed like the perfect guy, in text, to her. Alas this was not the case, he was a crazed, jealous, money hungry liar. He let me do whatever I wanted only because he knew it would make my mum happy to see me happy. Yet I always had the feeling something was off and on many occasions I told my mum how this man made me feel. The eiry, weird and evil feeling when you just know something is wrong about a person when you meet them. He basically gave me the creeps. He was an older man, he owned a kayak business that was obviously not doing well, even I could see that as he barely made enough to cover fuel costs, and the only other form of income he made was from a paper delivery business out of his basement type garage. Neither of which brought in much money, let alone to pay a mortgage or even rent with living expenses on top of the highest peak in kingscliffe. This man was my bane. Within weeks of living there I knew I didn't want to stay there long. Yet it took over six months for us to leave and thankfully we did. It took us so long to get a new house because my mum was not working and a sick pensioner. I felt living there with him and his daughters was overwhelming to say the least. His daughters would sporadically come in and out of the house making all sorts of noise then leaving again. One of which didn't even live there anymore. The man couldn't even put together a barbeque without help, yet he would need me or my mum to watch him do "manly" things to make him feel so. He was no where near manly. Not long after living with him my mum found out he was in debt. That she could live with. She was even prepared to help him work things out so he could pay it off. He had no interest in such things, he just wanted quick money and to terrorize whomever got in his way. He tried to make me feel wanted by him to take me over to his side many times but it's easy to see through a smile of lies. I could easily see him gritting his teeth every time he smiled at me if I interupted him, every time I did something so meaninglessly wrong, It was like the world had been crushed like a pebble into dust. I knew this one would be like all the rest, unfit and undeserving of her love. I started school within two weeks of residency in the area at Kingscliffe High School. This wasn't the first time I'd started at a new school and I knew it wasn't going to be anything like the others, especially since we were in a different State. Everyone there was different to anyone I'd ever met. I didn't fit in to the other schools already so this one was no different in that fact. I felt that no one there understood me and for the first few weeks I kept to myself. Ate at lunch by myself and did all my school work in quiet without talking to anybody. I was the "new kid" and until I did something to set myself out from the rest I would still be known by that fact. During this time I felt fairly lonely but consoled in the fact that I was still with my mother who I love dearly and that was all that mattered. In my previous school I'd played a bit of hand ball but I was a bit out of practice. So I sought some new found friends in that area, a bit out of the way from the mainstream "pro" players to hone up my skills again. Within about a months practice of playing handball I'd matched and beaten everyone within my small circle of out of the way friends. By this time I wasn't the "new kid" anymore. I was more-so "that shy kid" and I felt that way too. I kept focused on my studies yet I wouldn't do homework still because that was the time I wanted to spend with my mother. I decided it was time to give hand ball a go in the mainstream areas for a bit and play the dummy, ask the rules make some mistakes and have a bit of a play around and see what's what. Eventually I made it competitive even though it may have been with myself to see how hard I could hit the ball within the limit of the rules. It took many lunch times of practice and there it was. I'd found my shot. The shot no-one had a backing to. The shot no-one could hit back. I became renound for having the hardest hitting power shit in school that bounced within the rules to the closest edges of the courts. When I played kids stood down, they only wanted to watch the best versus the best. It felt great being at the top of my game. Only few liked hand ball enough to be competitive with me and only those few challenged me to one on one matches just to see my shot. The only problem was they were on the recieving end of that shot constantly and I had never had it hit back. I had worked it out in my head the complete timing of the swing, force was maxed and I would use my whole body weight to the advantage of my swing. Which was a great mass at the time. I weighed in at 110kgs at five foot two'. Then I would time the swing so that the ball would hit my hand millimetres from the ground and smash it at my opponent. I practiced constantly every chance I had before school and every lunch time. My social life slowly began to grow as I played the game but I never really took much of a part in it. Even at this age I felt the silly and stupid things my friends did just for fun were not fun in my mind. I may have had a giggle when they did them but I would never have myself even tickled the thought in my mind. It was just stupid to me. My power shot became more and more known and more and more challengers would step up to the plate. If no one wanted to practice with me I would even just use a wall but then would come the task of finding a ball no-one was using. The ball was more my friend I felt yet I didn't even have one of my own. It kept me occupied in my spare time and I loved simply challenging myself to new heights and seeing how fast I could hit it and push the limits even further. Many played a trick game and would use their agility to their advantage and my weight against me. So I practiced getting faster around the court and moving to harder shots. Even going for dives on concrete surfaces. I played hard and I didn't give up easily. I felt completely focused when I played like nothing else was around, yet as soon as I had a crowd I made mistakes. I was still "that shy kid" at heart. I didn't really know anybody and had no close friends so I would just stick to what I knew. School work and handball. The idea of extra money came into play when I saw our savings from selling our house was dwindling. We started with over one-hundred and twenty thousand dollars in the bank and it sank quickly with our living expenses wanting to stay the same as my mother's old job could afford. My mother tried to cut down slowly yet I didn't realize fully what was happening. I needed hard evidence in my mind to see there was a change. I felt helpless so I asked around at school to see if anyone could help me find a job. Eventually after word getting around. I found a trolley boy position through a mentally frustrating process which I felt was harder than it needed to be. I'd give my mum some money every time pay day came around but it was never really enough to compensate. I mean eighty dollars a fortnight and I was giving her half of my pay to help out as much as I could. There were things that I wanted aswell so I saved the rest of it. After a year had gone by my mother's relationship with this man was dwindling as I knew it would. He'd began asking her for money, it may not have been in the form of money but it might have been a car or money for his daughter that he didn't have. She helped him as much as he could without giving him money. She paid for the food we ate and cooked, cleaned and helped him where she could. We'd moved out by this time and he was harrassing her from what it looked like on my end. During the move he helped a little yet used excuses of his paper job and business at pottsville with the kayaks as an excuse to not help. I ended up moving us into that house with my mum. She was under great strain as by this time I was thirteen and working hard to load everything into a hired trailer and move it in. I had missed our furniture and belongings because they made a house our home. It was long, arduous work for me. By the two weeks end I was worn and fatigued moving our things from a storage unit thiry minutes drive away. Meanwhile I was still going to school and moving house after school and on weekends. My mum did what she could during the time I was at school but I could see how much it was effecting her and the strain it put on her. She was exhausted aftering moving three small things out of the car and into the house yet she kept going. She had to have constant breaks and I ended up just telling her, "I will do it mum, you just have a rest, its no problem." I could see the appreciation in her eyes that dimmed nearly instantly to guilt which made her get up again and want to help and I could not stop her. After the two weeks were over she fell ill again and was in and of hospital. I never really knew what was going on, all I knew she was sick and I wanted to help her. I constantly asked if she needed my help or If there was anything I could do for her. My trolley shifts had began to pay off after four months so I bought myself new shoes against the advice of my mum. These shoe's I still have today and cherish. The only shoes to last and not die at my hands.