None of that compared to the fact that my mother was a ghost. Yes, a living, br—er, a living ghost. The story my parents had told me was that my Uncle's girlfriend had jealously killed my mother in an attempt for the throne. In an act of pure love, my father persisted until he managed to revive her—according to my mother, it was with a kiss.
Dubious to the story, I simply amused my fanciful parents by accepting their tale as truthful. One thing I certainly couldn't deny, however, was my parents' love for each other. As a result of that, I had two younger siblings—Leah and Charles.
My mother was the youngest of four, and my father a single child, so neither could relate to my situation. The one person who could was long gone. My grandfather, known as 'Andy', had had a younger brother and sister. Unfortunately, he died not long after the birth of Leah. According to the testimony of my Cousin Bashful (a ridiculous name if I ever did hear one), he had accepted Death like the embrace of an old friend. I simply scoffed and informed her that she was reading too many Harry Potter books.
Before the birth of my younger brother, however, Leah and I were inseparable. We would play in the pen together, amusing ourselves when our parents were otherwise occupied. I have many memories of days when mother would carry us upstairs and let us play while she painted. Her painting was no doubt a way to grieve for her father's passing, but the hobby eventually turned into another way to make money for her. After all, as she aged, riding jockey in competitions became more difficult and she turned to breeding and raising horses rather than strictly equestrian jobs.
Nevertheless, her method of coping with grief allowed Leah and I time to explore our imaginations. She chose crayons and blocks while I preferred the dollhouse. Perhaps, looking back, one might equate such a choice as being feminine, but toddlers have no perceived notion of gender and I simply liked creating stories with characters.
One of my fondest memories growing up was when my parents permitted me to keep a squirrel I had befriended. It had taken several minutes of reasoning with them, but it was not long before they were convinced. If I was to be quite frank, my parents preferred the permissive style of parenting. They were fortunate that I had no interest in deviance, as I doubt they would have been able to control any misbehaving. And, fortunately for me, this casual relationship I had with my parents allowed me to pursue my own interests. Besides, I took good care of my squirrel. I fed him regularly, cleaned his habitat, and set aside time to bond with him by petting him.
Despite my parents' interest in acting more as a friendly figure to me rather than an authoritative one, I often felt a disconnect from the rest of my family. Before I was very good at reading, I used to ask my father to read to me from philosophical books as well as tactical chess books. Childhood cognitive learning is essential for later development, thus I wanted to have a head start in life. Hard work as a child would surely lead to success later in my life, and I hoped that this early realization would allow me to live comfortably after securing a stable career.
A person can only improve if they recognize their faults. Without a doubt, mine would have to be jealousy. Independent children have little need to cling onto their parents' arms. When their parents extends a hand to help them stand when they have fallen, these children stand on their own. Every child must arrive at this point eventually. I simply regret how early I reached this point.
I was, then, jealous of how my parents interacted with Leah. I was jealous of how she relied on our parents for survival. A ridiculous thing to be jealous of, given the fact that I too, required my parents for survival—the need was simply more indirect.
Being aware of this fault did not mean that I had the capacity to change myself, however. Instead, I dedicated myself to a constant pursuit of knowledge. Even in the dead of winter, nothing brought me greater thrill than exploring the night sky from the balcony of my own home. My curious nature did not impede my sense of self-protection, however, and I made sure to be properly dressed for any nighttime excursions.
Every night, after my mother and father had kissed me goodnight, I would slip out of bed and reclaim my winter coat and gloves from beneath my bed, then retreat to the world of wonder found within the stars.
A great mind would be nothing without imagination. The ability to disappear into a different world hinted at further creative abilities. A genius could use the formulas of the men who came before him to solve the same problems they had solved, but an innovator would discover new formulas and pursue all possibilities without question.
It was this in mind that I allowed myself to dress up in costumes and explore the life of another. A less astute person might simply arrive at the assumption that I liked to play dress-up and make-believe, but it was all in my plan for the future.
How one presents themselves is fundamental to how they will be perceived. It is simple logic. In that regard, I understood that my father, a prominent politician and leader in our community, renowned for his charm and ease, would be an excellent role model. Although he dressed comfortably at home, he always wore a suit to work. In mimicry, I made sure to dress accordingly, especially given the fact that I would go on to inherit the title of king. I received mocking comments at school on occasion, but for the most part, it was regarded as a simple character quirk that others were accustomed to. I wanted to be perceived as a serious, hard-driven student, and my appearance easily conveyed that to others.
There were a few quandaries that I had with my father, but the most prominent one was the length at which he kept his hair trimmed. It was unsightly for a man to have hair the same length of his wife, and I made sure to always keep mine cut short and neat. I saved time styling it and it was never greasy. I was a model example of professionalism.
My sister, on the other hand, could only be described as 'sassy.' She could only be described that way because she would snarl at anyone who suggested differently. Particularly at older, knowledgeable brothers who only wanted the best for their sister. She was smart, creative, musically inclined, and incredibly popular at school. Yet she had a disinterest in others that was altogether not too different from myself. In my case, however, my lack of interest in others stemmed from my keen interest in exploration, both that of the world and of sciences. Leah, regrettably, was simply self-centered.
This self-love may have been fueled by her ever-adoring imaginary friend. Among all the fables my parents had spread, the imaginary friend was one that I believed to be true. My Great-Uncle Buzz had written notes documenting potions required to alter the form of an imaginary friend. My family's words may not have convinced me, but science certainly did.
For that matter, whenever Leah and I played together, her imaginary friend was never far off. She referred to the friend as 'Peanut.' The whole situation was a bit ridiculous, and having to address a living, sentient creature by the foolish name of 'Peanut' hardly made the situation any easier.
Despite my sister's many faults, I loved her and couldn't help but admire her tenacity and keen business mind. We had both tried our hand at baking and making treats, and Leah had discovered that Peanut had an extraordinary knack for following her directions. So, employing Peanut as a loyal servant, Leah sold the baked goods at a considerable profit. She would often make day trips to the park to attract a larger crowd of customers. Given her apparently sweet looks, Leah certainly knew how to worm her way into other's hearts through insincere smiles.
My youngest brother, William, shocked the family with his birth. He was planned, but the form he took was not. Somehow, he had inherited mother's spectral qualities. There were some things that even science could not explain. Not long after his birth, my parents had enlisted the help of my Uncle Harry. He apparently owed my mother lots of favours, and they entrusted my young brother in his care. With the babysitting duties taken care of, we traveled to Egypt. Egypt, however, had many strict policies in place about supernatural types. There was a mountain of paperwork required in order for supernatural types to travel to Egypt. Instead of worrying about that, Uncle Harry revealed something his lab had been working on. Great Uncle Buzz had invented a potion which could given the user a ghost-like appearance for a period of time. Using this, Uncle Harry had donated the potion to his hospital for research, and been rewarded with a prototype of the reverse potion.
In short, the potion gave mother a physical presence. Although she could still pass through walls, and often took to hovering above the ground, by all appearances, she was perfectly human. It was the first time I could truly see what my mother looked like.
My siblings and I didn't care much for touring the catacombs. Mother and father used this to their advantage and went off on their own. By the end of the trip, father had contracted a strange illness, and he told us all that we would have to return before too long. He claimed to be cursed, but I suspected he simply wanted to return to the desert sands.
During our vacation time, however, Leah, Charles and I immersed ourselves in the warm waters. Charles had somehow learnt how to windsurfing, and graciously offered me lessons. Before long, I found myself easily spending hours on the water, enjoying the peace of the sea. On the water, I allowed my mind to wander until I was thinking of nothing at all. It was an unexpected form a meditation.
I had never really considered myself to be athletic, however, and the days on the water quickly tired me out. When I wasn't windsurfing or snorkeling, I allowed the tranquility of fishing to take its place. At the end of each night, I brought home the largest fish I had caught during the day and we would prepare it for supper. The others, I simply let go. There was no need to waste food, and among my family, a large fish was sufficient.
As I said, my parents were permissive and did not stress over my excursions. Occasionally, I couldn't help but wonder if it was affecting my growth negatively. Where was the line between permissive and detachment? Allowance and neglect? True, my parents fed me, clothed me, and verified my achievements. They had enrolled me in Scouts and I learnt valuable skills there. I could not neglect to admit, however, that my interpersonal skills were rather lacking. One day, staring at my father, the politician, the charmer, the one whose golden words led our nation, I couldn't help but feel as if I had plenty more work to do than I had anticipated. With my birthday approaching, I set a goal for myself:
By the end of high school, I wanted to make my first friend.
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