But I was always different, even in that sense. I remember crying without knowing why on father's day in pre school, as my teacher told me if you don't have a father just draw something else. I wasn't crying because I didn't had a father, I was crying because that made me different from the rest, I didn't want to be different, I wanted to be the same.
Growing up I started to realize little by little just how different my life really was. My house consisted of two family members, besides me, my illiterate grandfather who was the wisest man I ever met, and my autistic mother who suffered from epilepsy. Sure I had other family, a uncle and an aunt, a godmother that made my days brighter, and two "borrowed" grandparents that were basically our landlords but treated me as if I was their own grandchild.
Memories are fuzzy and confusing from those days, but some things were burned forever in my mind, and even though at the time I was very little I remember them as clear as if they had happen yesterday. I will never forget the night when my godmothers best friend came to our house, I knew something was wrong, I could feel it from all of the commotion and strange things happening that day, but watching her come knock on our door at night was by far the strangest. Something was wrong, she would never be there if everything was right. That grown up figure standing outside my house and calling my name made my heart stop and as she kneel down and put her hands on my shoulders my young little mind was already waiting for the words I didn't want to hear.
Sorry Joao, Leopoldina, my "borrowed grandmother", passed away, she has gone to heaven now. The shock was too much for my 4 year old mind, my gut was twisted, my eyes started flowing and I cried myself to sleep on my living room couch, screaming and gripping my pillow until my body and my mind finally gave up.
Every thing changed from that day, no more home made cooking made by an angel, no more stories and adventures, on the house above mine. Years have passed but her image is still stuck in my mind, and all the good memories we shared will never fade away.
My "borrowed grandfather", Antonio, was my first teacher, he taught me how to do math and write simple words even before I started school. I remember fondly helping him in the garden, building a fence for the chickens, or painting a shed for his tools. He had little ducks once, and we even built a small lake for the young ducklings, their side of the garden was like my own little wonderland. He taught me so many great things but even that stopped when she died, he became more and more reclusive and just started waiting day by day, for the embrace of the grim reaper, hoping it would take him back to her.
Still I tried very hard to cheer him up, I was constantly there in my free time, browsing his old library, playing with my Godmothers old board games and puzzles, she is their actual granddaughter.
But even that was not enough. I watched his health deteriorate, I watched my mother doing her best to take care of him, countless times I would refuse to leave and they ended up placing a mattress on my Godmothers old room for me to sleep in.
He passed away when I was thirteen, on a Tuesday... this was the second saddest day of my life,..
I had a lot of friends growing up, my oldest one is still around today, and we keep confiding in each other even though our lives are now too far apart.
Most of the lessons I learned in life I learned from them, from watching how they were and how their parents acted with them. My mom, as much as I love her, lives in her own world, she did the best she could, but for me she was always someone I needed to protect and teach, not the other way around.
I remember when she took me to the Zoo, we used to do that a lot when I was young, she had a epileptic seizure in the middle of the train and dragged me out before we reached our stop. She was lost and confused after the seizure, she always is. I remembered being scared that day, I was about five or six years old, stuck in a strange and empty train station with a mother who couldn't reply to my questions, and seemed more lost than I was. I think my brain did the only thing it could and forced her to stay sill in the platform to wait for the next train, hoping that by that time it arrived she would have regained her wits and guide us to our destination.
As time passed and this little episodes happen again and again, I learned to deal with this the best I could. Most of the times I would just need to wait for her to regain control of her own mind and avoid the surrounding crowds from taking her away. I remember being so used to this that whenever I heard my mom speak "Oh my god", No matter where I was or what I was doing I knew she was having a seizure, so I would just keep an eye on her and wait it out.
But as much as I tried to protect her, she still had her own mind. She had a boyfriend when I was young, and because of him I started school in a private college near my house. It was his decision and my mom just went along with it. This was perhaps, even though I didn't knew it at the time, the best wrong decision anyone ever made with my life. Those six school years I spent there where simply blissful, even though the monthly payments were about the same amount my mother received from her forced retirement, that school provided me with the best education I could hope to get in my early years. Thanks to those years, and my personal experiences, my mind developed in a way it wouldn't have in a different school.
I made friends for life in that school, despite only one of them remaining in my life. The people I met there showed me a completely different world from the one I knew. From the huge Lego collections, to the multiple computer games and tv channels available, their amazing big houses and loving families. And most of all they showed me that there was more to life than what I had. They showed me just how different I was from them and at the same time, in their kindness, always made me feel like a part of their world.
To be continued...
