Facebook should be fun. Obviously, Mark Zuckerberg didn’t set it up just to be fun, as his personal wealth of circa $40 billion illustrates, but for most of us it’s an opportunity to have, well, fun. We share photos of where are go on holidays, we share photos of ourselves to show how attractive we are (which is why I don’t share photos of myself!), we celebrate events and we participate in clickbait activities, such as a list of destinations we have been to and the types of food we like or don’t like. With the exception of selfies, I have done all these things pretty well to death and rarely do them anymore, but there was one which recently hit a raw nerve with me: would you have the same father/mother if you had your time again? This is not an easy question for me and I am not going to answer yes or no, at least not today. It’s complicated.
Am I grateful for my upbringing which made me the person I am today? No, not at all. Whilst I did learn a lot as a child, a teenager and as a full-formed adult; I claim the credit for almost all of it. My less than stellar education and lifetime in work was solely down to me. I took all the decisions at all stages, including at Primary and Junior School. My Dutch mother encouraged me to read and write, so she certainly deserves a part credit for everything I have ever written, but everything else was down to me. That’s why I am rubbish at almost everything. (This is not up for debate, by the way.)
I never had significant encouragement to study particular subjects or to seek out potential careers. The sports I played, almost uniformly badly, were played because I made the effort to play them. No parent or grandparent guided me along the way. The same with my piss poor career choices. Even though I am content with the way many things have panned out, I certainly wouldn’t want to live this exact same life again.
At least my mum picked up on my poor mental health from an early age, but I have been the one who has had to deal with it since age 18. No one picked up on my ADHD, but then it’s fair to say it didn’t exist when I was young. They called it something else, like being thick. I somehow scraped through a long working life thanks to my partner, friends and, in the latter years in full time work, brilliant colleagues and managers. I give them the due credit they deserve because it taught me the importance of being there for people. People were there for me when I was younger, to make sure I was fed and watered, but graduating the school of life, such I did it, was all down to me. That’s not me showing off, because there is literally nothing to show off about. My triumph has been my survival. Nothing else.
Things were different back then. We didn’t even have house phones, never mind mobiles. No internet, no computers. Christ, my paternal grandparents didn’t even have a bathroom, something I never thought was odd until long after they died. My mum and I had one, but my grandparents didn’t. Maybe I thought we were the lucky ones? In some ways we were. It was only years later that I found out what the large china bowl in the kitchen was for.
Am I angry and bitter? I don’t know, is the honest answer. But I am pretty sure that things could definitely have been different and perhaps much better than they were and now when I am far nearer my death than my birth, it’s not hard to repeat those fateful words: “What if?”
I like my life, mostly. I am proud of my partner and her incredible achievements in life, both with family and professionally and of course my sons who I would like to think have had far more opportunities than we had. But regrets? I’ve got more than is good for me. And as I approach old age, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. Actually, it’s worse than that. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
I know I am one of the lucky ones to have been born at all. And there’s always something worth living for, which is why I’m still here. At least there is today. There’s always tomorrow and at least then there will be someone who can guide me. That, I suppose, is the essence of why almost everyone answers the original question, “would you have the same father/mother if you had your time again”, in the affirmative. I know my answer and, as ever with me, it’s totally convoluted. When I finish my memoirs, I’ll show you just how.
