January 27th, 2012.

I remember visiting my classmate Brian, when we were, what, thirteen or fourteen years old or such, at his house some 500 yards away from mine. Not too great a distance, but somehow I never made it there more than a few times. Sometimes he and his sisters came around, and stayed for dinner I seem to recall, but soon enough mum got enough of them and I remember as well hiding from them, on her insistence, make believing no-one was home when they came to the door. The trouble seemed to be that the arrival of the children marked the arrival of their parents, some sorry people. Their house was a mess, untidy and nothing seemed to fit anywhere. I think he worked demolition, their father. I sometimes caught a glimpse of him in the woods, there was an old dump site he would be going through for scrap metal. It was pretty smelly, too, their house, and for all I knew his son was somewhat more grown-up than me, which, besides the computer-games I used to trade him for, I guess was the attraction; he was more free than I, allowed to do whatever he pretty much wanted. All wasn’t well, though, and it soon became too much for me to handle so I stayed away, not by mum’s command but by my own notion. The pornographic magazines littered on his floor, too many to count, gave too much away. As ’twere, they were a severely dysfunctional family. The father ended up in jail for sexual abuse of his daughter, and I’m not sure what his son’s part in all of it was, but to say that I’m sure there was a part to play. The mother moved her children to Moldrup, and I visited Brian there a time or two at the most, but sooner than later they were gone anew. Some years later I spotted him in the street and invited him back home for a talk, I think I must’ve been on holiday from school in Skive. And he talked about having taken to sea, the merchant marine, which seemed a sensible thing to do. Though it was also quite evident the years hadn’t been kind to his cerebral potential: he bragged of having had kids he never saw with women he never stayed with. Hard to say what he was looking for, but safe to say his upbringing hadn’t been kind to him and would prevent him, in turn, from being kind to his children.


Such a long time ago. Twenty-five years or more.


A bit of work in Copenhagen, a scanning-gig. Not quite where I can call it quit entirely. But am getting there. Home for supper, and a great evening with the family. Saw K and N really playing together, consciously (on his part), laughing it out, so great to see. Such wonderful kids


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s