The Prof.

Dad... He's in the room next to my bedroom and I haven't seen much of him today. Now I know what he does there. I also know what the old man with the heavy voice is doing with him. That old man is a professor. He teaches Daddy how to do maths. Daddy says that this gentleman doesn't come anymore. That man says that daddy is stupid and can't do arithmetic. He will never understand arithmetic. That makes daddy angry. He says that he is not stupid and that his teacher cannot explain. The old man doesn't come back.

"There are no stupid questions," Dad said to me, "there are only stupid answers. Teachers are paid to explain what you don't know. If they can't do that, they are bad teachers."

I listened to Dad but said nothing. There's no point in saying anything because Dad and Mum won't respond to what I say anyway. They don't want to hear me, don't want to see me, just someone to talk to or shout at.

When daddy is angry, I'd better be in my own room. Two angry parents are no fun. I'm not as scared of Dad as I am of my mother. My mother is mean. She pulls my hair and yesterday she pulled my earring out of my ear. My ear tore and bled and she threw the ring into my bedroom. She looked at me but I said nothing. I felt the blood running down my neck but I am tired. Tired of the things she does and says and just wants her to go away. Why doesn't she leave me alone? I never do anything right and yet she keeps making me do things. Why doesn't she just let me sit in my room and pretend I don't exist? Then I don't bother her and she doesn't bother me. When I'm at school, she doesn't have to see me and I don't dirty anything. I take off my shoes before I walk through the house. I am not allowed in the living room and I make my own bed and I can wash myself. I can also iron and mend clothes. I have to do that on Friday afternoon. I don't like the work, but I can do it. I don't know who taught me. Maybe I could already do it? Grandmother taught me to knit. I am not very good at it yet and my knitting is at home with her. So I can't practise when I'm at home, but I don't have time for that anyway.

I have to do many tasks at home and when I'm not working, I have to be in my room. Sometimes I am in the kitchen when there is tea from school or when we have dinner. Only on Saturdays and sometimes Sundays, I am allowed to be in the living. On Saturday evenings we always eat bread and soup and eat in front of the telly. Dad is tired and wants to watch television. Maybe he does that because this way he can pretend not to hear my mother? He stares at the screen and talks to himself.

Now Daddy is sitting angrily in the little room next to me. He says that he will teach himself maths because he can do it. I don't know if he can, but I'm not good at maths. I don't know why but my head can't remember the sums and maybe I don't like to count either? I would rather read because when I read I can forget my parents, their tantrums and my life. Then I am just somewhere else but I can only read when I am with grandmother or granny. They let me read in peace and don't scare me. I only don't like my uncle. He always makes me watch out when he steals food. He sleeps for a long time and I don't want to wake him up. He always pretends not to hear me and pulls me into bed with him. I don't want to do that and I don't want to feel him but I don't say anything. There is no point in saying anything. He doesn't listen and he thinks he is the king. I think he is not normal. I don't think he is a king but a show-off and I am not going to say that he is the king. He wants to but I won't. He's not my favourite uncle either. He can have my sweets because I don't like them. I don't like the English liquorice. They have strange colours. Pink and blue and I think also coconut. I don't like coconut, not this coconut. It smells strange too. When grandma gives me the bag of sweets, I give it to my uncle because he likes it and grandma doesn't give him anything because he is too fat. That's why he steals food, at least that's what I think.

I hear Dad sighing through the wall and he calls someone. Maybe it's Uncle G. I haven't seen Uncle G. for a long time. When he comes, he brings candy and I like that candy. At our house, there is never any candy but there are tea biscuits and biscuits, different kinds of bread and cake. The baker delivers it on Saturday morning. My mother is a sweet tooth but I prefer cheese.

Dad sighs again and I hear him mumbling. When he mumbles, he reads and writes things down. He has an agenda and also writes on a notepad. Sometimes he calculates things. He has a calculator with a counting roll. If he types something, it says on paper what he typed. I was allowed to try it once when he was busy. It is fun work. If he types something wrong, he can also see it on the paper. I like doing it and the paper makes a nice sound when it goes through the machine. I was also allowed to put a new roll of paper in the machine once. It was difficult but I managed. Daddy says you can do anything if you just try and the more often you do it the easier it is.

Soon, Daddy will be able to do maths and then he can tell that old teacher that he is wrong. Dad likes to do that, to say that someone is wrong. But he never says that to my mother. Would he be afraid of her too?

If Daddy can do maths, then I can do it too. I just have to be older and then I might get a calculator too. That would be easy because then I wouldn't have to do the calculations by heart and I wouldn't need paper and pencil either.

April 23, 2002

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