The move is done. And suddenly you realize how nice your previous residential address had been. Now you’re exposed to the elements. Cold, something you’ve never experienced, light is so much brighter, and the sounds, oh my gosh. What is that? Your surroundings have now become the sole responsibility of your caregiver. The only upside is the free food that comes in these amazing containers. Soft and squishy. They come in different sizes too you know, thanks to genetics. If you’re lucky, genetics endowed your’ caregiver in such a matter that Pamela Anderson would feel envious, and not with the chest of Pee Wee Herman.
And now, finally, the dot on the line, the unending line of time, your space on the timeline, is etched. While you keep breathing, the line keeps going.
Life as we know it begins. You’re set on your path of growth, and as long as you keep getting food from those lovely containers, you have a huge advantage. You start learning. You are beginning to recognize faces. The sounds are beginning to make sense, and the surroundings, thanks to your caregiver, is not all that bad. You’ve started airing your own voice. It’s not allot, but enough to discern whether your needs are food, heat, pain or hunger. And your caregiver has quite the ear; it’s like working with the deaf or the mute. No words are exchanged, but the message comes across never the less. During this period, you might feel you have no control over anything. I mean, you still poop in your pants for heaven sake. Hang on. It’ll get better. So, as you continue growing, you start learning stuff. Things get stuck in your head. Language, color, voices, faces, textures, smells, tastes, a whole lot to take it. But you have your whole life ahead of you, so don’t worry too much.
Your first birthday… by now you might already be sitting on your own. You’ve started making your own noises, baby talk as we call it. Spitting bubbles. Giggling for things you might find funny. Hard to think that your sense of humor develops before you’re able to speak. You might even have started walking. Standing on your own two legs, however still abiding to every wish the caregiver has to offer. You now voice your’ likes and dislikes; certain foods taste better, you prefer a certain drink, and you have a favorite blanket or toy. This doesn’t mean you’re capable of making your own choices, or sticking to your own decisions, this merely means that the wiring in your brain is being done right. As you get older, you’ll get to be more independent. Inexorably, you will age, you will grow, and one day, one of your basic food groups, will get ripped from your chubby little hands. Those lovely containers you have come accustomed to must be returned to their rightful owner or owners. You too shall one day understand the methodology.
It’s the end of the year, and allot op people gather around, some of them you’ve only ever seen once, or should I say, they’ve seen you. The day you were born, many people gathered to see the splendid little being that had been pushed and tortured into this world. Nobody seems to talk about the event that took place that day, and the topic might only pop up once or twice whilst others talk about planning their own little rental agreements being put in place. Family planning it’s called. Opening up old wounds and the PTSD kicks in.
It’s Christmas. A big, old, fat, smelly man in a red suit shows up, and everyone is rapturous over your’ reaction as he gently tries to persuade you onto his lap. Your wailing cries land on deaf ears as everybody reaches for their phones to capture the moment. A memory that will haunt you for years to come after the disappointing fact is revealed that Santa Clause doesn’t really exists, and it was Uncle Bill all along. The presents however are a welcome supplement for being good all year long. It might be a while before the family informs you on why you haven’t seen Uncle Bill in a while, but his name has appeared on another list that proves he had not been all good for a few years.
