Sorry guys. Being a parent myself, I have finally come to realise how much you put up with me when I was little.
Not the bad exam results, I mean, or general naughtiness: those weird little things that, when noticed, must have made you facepalm and just think: ‘Great. We’ve spawned a prat.’
Things like this.
My music taste.
I listened to Gloria Estefan almost religiously. Whilst other kids my age had the tinny beats of dance music emanating from their headphones, I was bobbing my head to ‘Doctor Beat’, or wiping away a single tear to the strains of ‘Anything For You’.
I had my hair in curtains, and thought it looked cool. Later on, I’d have some bizarre haircut whereby I had a combination of a fringe and curtains, inspired by a photo of a young Nick Barmby I had on my wardrobe. In order to scrape my hair into this unnatural style, I used mousse. I don’t think I need to say any more.
I wore huge glasses, the kind where the lower rims touch your cheek by your mouth. They had gold frames. To this day I’m not sure why I wasn’t beaten up at school. They had every right.
My obsession with endangered species.
I was obsessed with tigers, to the point where I had a poster of one on my bedroom wall, sandwiched between a poster of the cast of ‘Friends’, and one of Britney Spears, back when she was still a ‘virgin’. I even did a class presentation on the Bengal Tiger, ecstatic about the fact that my name was featured. BENgal. I was at one with the tiger.
My hatred of alcohol
I had a bizarre and completely unexplainable hatred of alcohol. I would throw a fit when I saw a can of beer in the fridge, or if my mum dared have a glass of wine. I’ve no idea what caused this resentment, especially as nowadays I love a can of Foster’s.
My hatred of parental affection
Similar to my hatred of alcohol, I used to flip whenever my parents held hands, or showed any affection towards each other. I once had a nightmare that they were kissing. They divorced a few years later; I blame myself, and you.