The story continues...

So there I was, early adolescence, difficult home life, parents with zero communication skills. Life had become a weird saga wherein I was the only person who acknowledged everyone's presence.

My father had become very successful and was mixing with some very influential people. South Africa at the time was right in the middle of apartheid but he and his friends were already discussion the probability of a 'new' South Africa. I, from the tender age of about 11 started spending time with some very intellectual and very serious adults. People who would consider every opinion that I had and who never found my intense curiosity strange. On the other hand, these same people grew quickly irritated with any glimpse of teenage angst or girly giggles - my father more so than any other. Week-ends at my fathers became a surreal type of grown-up game where I acted and was treated much older than my years.

During the week however things couldn't have been more different. My step dad simply couldn't cope with my precocious nature and instead chose to use punishment as a tool to curb my unruly tongue. He tried hidings, but I refused to cry. He tried grounding, but I enjoyed my own company as much as that of others. Instead of making progress with me, this reaction simply hardened my resolve against him and I used every opportunity available to make life hard for me. From sneaking out, to smoking I had a whole inventory of lies at the ready for any situation that I was caught in. The worst part was that none of my parents thought to seek each others opinions so I got away with it way longer than I should have.

At the age of 17, life at home had become beyond unbearable so I waited until my dad went away on a business trip, packed what little belongings I had and left home. I honestly believed that this was my only alternative. My mother and I had never seen eye to eye and the older I got the more viscous our insults became. My dad had all but given up on trying to 'break' me and instead just acknowledged me as little as possible*. The only path that I could take was to leave and start anew.

VP

* Years later my mother told me how devastated my dad was that I had left when he wasn't there. Unfortunately the veil of teenage misery obscured the fact that he really loved me as if I was his own.