I Remember

I remember.

I remember things I sometimes don't want to remember.

I remember being a child with many friends. I was the kind of kid that was rather boyish. Always friends with boys, playing football or just hanging out with them.

I remember me wearing pink glasses. Yes, metaphorically speaking. I had looked at world through them, liking everyone and everything. I loved my mom, I loved my sister despite our constant arguments, I loved my father. I loved him so much, but now, I don't know why. Pink glasses. That's the cause, probably.

I remember asking my father to make me a meal, because I was just a kid and not very skilled with a knife.

I remember asking my father to help me with math. It always ended with him screaming at me and me crying. He always had to be right. Always. Even though I know he wasn't. I knew he wasn't. But children are just children. With big imagination and little knowledge of life.

I remember him smacking me over my ass with his heavy slipper. I was such a bad kid. Terrible would be more suitable word. I used to do stupid things. Once I cut half of my lovely long blonde hair. I also scrawled something very colourful all over our couch, heater, wall and just whole living room.

I remember my father always screaming at my mother. And also me.

I remember my father throwing my mother out of our flat, because she was late. She always had to be home right after work. She couldn't even go out with her friends. No coffee no trip. Home or work. These were her options. This was her life. I just didn't understand it. I loved my father, but I loved my mother more. That's why I left that night with her and my sister. We stayed at my grandmother's.

I remember lying there, next to my mother, and asking her not to divorce father. Because I loved him. Like every child loves his father.

I remember getting older and my glasses getting darker.

I remember noticing little stuff about my father. His remarks, his moodiness, his anger, his screaming, his laziness, his selfishness, his strictness.

I remember when it got worse. I don't remember specific time, but occasions yes.

I remember him screaming at my mother. I remember him forbidding my mother everything. I remember him forcing my mother to live in our little room. Me, my sister and my mother. All three in a room smaller than his. Smaller than our kitchen. Smaller than our living room.

I remember that time. When my mother slept on mattress between mine and sister's bed. When we couldn't use internet. When we couldn't use washing machine. When we couldn't use our brand new laptop. When we couldn't use anything that was his. And according to him, everything was his.

I remember my mother trying to wash our clothes in the washing machine. He grabbed her by wrists, screamed and then shoved her in the bathtub. She cried out and wanted my sister to call the police. It's funny, because she was older than me, but still just a child, so she called my grandma. My grandma called my aunt. My aunt called the police.

I remember two policemen standing in our hallway asking what happened. My mom cried that he attacked her. He said one of his most memorable quotes. „She just slipped. Look, she is wearing such labile slippers." I don't even remember what happened next, I was so shocked that police was there. I just called my two best friends and we went out. I was crying. Who wouldn't? Few years after, sister told me, what she almost done that day, but that's her story to tell.

I remember some other day, when my mother used something his, because she wanted to cook a meal. He grabbed her by throat screaming in to her face. He said he would do something bad. I was standing there, looking at all the knives lying calmly just right there. On the table. My sister got courage and shouted at him to let her go. He shouted back that it was not her business. It's funny now, because how was it not her or our business when they are our parents? Back then, it wasn't funny at all.