My Childhood, Part One

Hello, one and all. Let me tell you a tale that is boring in some parts, yet intriguing in others. A tale that makes your mouth water, and drys it the next sentence. A tale that hopefully you like.

My name is Lukas. I grew up in Sweden. My father was a fisherman, and my mother was mean. Well, only some of the time. Actually, she homeschooled me, and I worshiped her.

Back to the story.

I spent most of my childhood outside, playing with my gigantic dog, and helping my father with fishing nets, fishing bait, fishing line, and everything else that had to do with fish.

I loved father more than any other being on this planet, and he loved me equally.

We were very happy in our small house, leaky attic and all. My favourite part of that old house was the fireplace. It seemed to me that it couldn’t be tamed, not by any man who wasn’t as large and powerful as itself. I loved to tell myself this when my father was stoking it.

It made him seem better still.

That was more or less my life up until Kindergarten. School was approaching fast, and I wasn’t particularly prepared either.

One day, when I was about six or so, my mother asked me where I wanted to go to school. I had been practicing what I was going to say for two hours. I had to sacrifice my prayers, and brushing my teeth.

No matter.

I told her I wanted her to teach me. There was silence for about a minute.

And instead of saying no (which she often did), she said she would do her best.

You could hear me whooping for joy a dozen houses away.

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