A Child to Adult's Experience

I once watched to a beautiful woman on television saying that she will never love a man who's standards is too exhilarating, and I wonder how beautiful ironic it was because it was meant to herself as well. I am early in my story, but I believe I will stretch out into eternity, and in the future I will reflect upon these early days, when it seemed being adult was a dirt road, walking towards me. Years ago He was an ingenious in the distance; now He is close enough, soon I will see the lines on His face, an adult.

I'm a prosaic man, I know nothing at all, my father and I always have a bickering towards each other. We are not close at first place, same towards the rest of his family. We were a poor family who attended a wealthy church, at church they told us we were children of God, but i knew God's family was better than mine. I was born with a small bladder so I wet the bed till I was three and later on developed a crush at the age of fourteen who was kind to me in a stilted sort of way, which is something she probably learned it from her mother. I was a freak by that time, acting like we are adults already, like we know about serious love but in fact we are still a hobbyist on that time. We know nothing at all, we don't even learned the various kinds of love and its characteristics.

We don't really have a primary location to where we actually grown up. I was raised together with my older brother on any different places by my mother, some people might say that's kinda bumper or well-endowed, but in reality it's not. My father is a tyrant. Ever since we are still kid, he used to love his things way better than his family. I understand the fact that he do have a migraine when he was on his mid adulthood, but I think that's not a valid reason just to ask for a toleration of his conducts towards his family.

I remember when he told us to buy some ice along with my brother when I was six, we used to play a lot, so much fun that we accidentally dropped that one peso coin and we didn't able to find it. I still remember the threat and the shiver of my body by that time, the anxiety of telling him what happened. We find the coin for as long as we can, lately we saw him walking towards us with a branch of guava tree on his both hands, he thwack us and burst out his wrath both me and my brother, everytime he strikes those branches towards us, I was hoping that the branch will get torn, but it's not, it's a guava tree, the only thing that can get it torn apart is only the twigs and the crown of it. We recently go back home after that, walking in front of our neighbor's house with a blood leaking in our head. Sometimes I ask my self at that time, why did I get punished, was it because of that peso coin that I dropped? or because of being a irresponsible person who couldn't manage to do simple tasks, or both.

By the age of twelve my mother together with my brother left home for good. After the hearing of the barangay to settle those child and woman abuse, the officials agreed with my mother to assort their relationship with my father. Many of our neighborhood told off my Mom to file a divorce contract with my father, but she wasn't able to do that, it's on our church's principle. My mother is a well dedicated religious person, and she will never breach that kind of devotedness towards her family. When I was introduced to the concept of God as a Father, I imagined Him as a stiff, oily man who wanted to move into our house and share a bed with my mother. I can only remember this is a frightful and threatening idea. I keep on asking myself with this kind of gratuitous pretention, tell I was on 9th grade. That day I wonder why it is God refers himself as a "Father" at all. This, to me, in light of the earthly representation of the role, seems to be a mistake. Why would God went to call himself Father when so many fathers abandon their children?