Life Begins Read Online Free Page A

"little
princess" and got whatever material desires I wanted. My father saw
me as an extension of himself. For me to project wealth was to
project wealth on him. Since that was the image that he wanted, I
had the best clothing and toys.
    Jack's father didn't care about
giving Jack the best toys. He seemed to be grooming him into a
grown-up. Instead of toys, Jack's father would rather spend time
with him.
    I remember a time when Jack wanted
a toy. His father told him that he didn't need it. Jack then threw
a fit. His father then looked at him and talked to him as if he
were an adult. He told him quite plainly that the toy would break
and would only bring him a temporary happiness. But Jack had
learned a few lessons by watching me handle my parents, so he
continued the tantrum. His father led him out of the store. I was
sure that Jack was going to get the beating of his life.
    The next time I saw him, I asked
him what his dad did to him. He told me that after he had been
taken out of the store, his father took him to a homeless shelter.
He showed him children that didn't have any toys, food, or a home.
They relied on the kindness of others for everything that they
had.
    I think it was probably one of the
most traumatic things to have ever happened to Jack. It's an
example of what I loved so much about his father. By that
Christmas, Jack had been so deeply scarred that he was too scared
to ask for anything. Santa Claus brought him the toy that he threw
the tantrum over. That was his father.
    Our parents were the best of
friends and of the same financial status, but they had two very
different views. My parents always gave me the best things. Jack's
always gave him what was best for him. I don't think Jack ever knew
how truly lucky he was.
    I would have traded all of my toys
just to see my parents look at me liked his looked at him. When
Jack was learning to read, there was a look of proudness that I
have never seen on my parents' faces. Mine just seemed annoyed that
I couldn't read any better than a first grader.
    Jack can kid me about being "a
little princess," but he was a little prince. He ruled that house.
I don't think there was ever a child who was more loved. Everything
that his parents did revolved around him. They didn't give him
everything that he wanted, but they gave him what was best for him.
My parents were always in a popularity contest. Jack's didn't care
if they were popular.
    There is a reason that we played
house so much when we were kids. It was an escape for me. My
Barbies were still beautiful people that didn't have any problems.
Playing house let me escape to an everyday life where life could be
different. Jack was a doting husband. I worked and came home to him
every day. I knew that when I grew up that I didn't want to be
caged up in the house waiting for a man to come home so I could
start my day. I was going to live and come home to the
man.
    And for the record, I did let Jack
choose. He just usually wanted to play doctor. It's not that I
minded. There was a reason that I was never late from work when we
were playing house.
    ~~~
    The odd thing about being a child is that you
play like you are grown up. There then comes a day when you wish
you could return to those days when you didn't really understand
what it was like to be a grown up. Christine was my
childhood.
    I don't remember anything else but her. It was
a love that was pure and honest. Everything just seemed to
work.
    I don’t know why it would work, though. We
were playing like we thought couples should act. We didn’t fight.
The kisses were fake and meaningless. It was more fake than a
sitcom. Seriously, the house could catch on fire and we would get
bombed by some warlord all within two hours of playing and never
have any problems. That is they joy of being a child. You don’t
sweat the big stuff. Now if you fall down, that is a problem. But
you getting bombed by a warlord is nothing. I wonder what show I
was watching back then.
    My