When I was twelve years old, I remember looking through the window of my friend's house night after night, watching her family go about their business. Mary's mother always made food that looked perfect, her father had a tendency to smoke a pipe while he read the daily news and my friend, well, she was perfect. I was always so jealous of her with her perfect blonde curls and perfectly pressed clothes. My life wasn't so perfect. My father was my idol as a child, he would do everything for me. My mother tended to get in the way of that. As I grew older, she grew more and more paranoid and tried to send me off to boarding school. I cried and clung to my father's leg, refusing to go. She tried everyhing she could to make me go away and after a while I decided that she must hate me. She started to become quiet and withdrawn, but I think the real breaking point for my mother was the day she and my father had gone to the store to get milk spontaneously in the middle of a hot afternoon...
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