I wanted Ultra Magnus to be so cool. I finally got him one Christmas.
He was so very shit.
Sunday 13 December 2009
Transformer Jenks
I wanted Ultra Magnus to be so cool. I finally got him one Christmas.
He was so very shit.
1:51
It's easy to speculate about things that you can never find answers for. I'm afraid that's one of my weaknesses, I often find myself wondering about things that have either happened a long time ago, or something that scares me about the future. I can't help it, I'm a thinker. Not a great one. Not even a good one. But a thinker nonetheless.
My mum was not really in the best of health for most of her life. In my early years, I knew her as a diabetic, a heavy smoker, and quite an impressive drinker. But for a few years before I was born, her health had meant that she was often quite weak or poorly. Because of this, it was decided that it would be dangerous for her to have anymore children. She already had my brother and 2 sisters, from previous relationships before she met my father. The way that it was always told to me while growing up, was this:
The doctors said she wouldn't be able to get pregnant again.
Then they said even if she did, she wouldn't be able to carry them full term.
Finally they said, if she did get pregnant, and carry it full term, then she would almost certainly die giving birth.
I remember being told many times, the story of how I almost killed my mum when she gave birth to me. In fact, a week after my mum died, my nan kindly informed me that she begged my mum to have me aborted because they were convinced she would die. You ever get the feeling that things are against you right from the very start?
Anyway, my mum did get pregnant, she did carry me full term, but she didn't die during my arrival. It messed her up quite badly though. She was in the hospital for about 3 weeks after I was born.
On a side note, my first day out of the hospital, I'm being carried by my nan through the hospital car park, when my sister cuts in front of my nan and accidentally trips her. My nan went flying and I ended up in a hedge.
You ever get the feeling that things are against you as soon as you hit the car park?
My name, while growing up, was Jamie. For school and everything, it was Jamie. For some reason though, my mum called me Jenks. That name seemed to stick with my family and all except my nan and dad, called me Jenks. My dad insisted on calling me Jamie my entire life.
When I was born, my parents had decided on calling me Jamie. Yet for some reason, when the nurse came around to take my name for the birth certificate, my mum told her that my name was James. No harm right? James and Jamie are pretty much the same name, and you can flip back and forth between them. But for some reason, my dad didn't like the name James.
Fast forward to my early teens, and while going through a case of family photos, I find an envelope with "Baby James' grave" written on it. Inside were 2 polaroids of flowers on a small grave, with no headstone. I did ask my mum about it, but all she said was, "Please don't ever get rid of them".
Fast forward to me being 32 and with my mum dead, there is now no real way for me to find out who baby James was. I could ask my nan, but honestly, I've since learnt so much shit about my family, that I don't think I could cope with more secrets and lies. I'm fairly sure that I am who I think I am, and I wasn't some baby stolen from outside the corner shop, to replace poor baby James.
I just find it odd that my mum had photos of a grave, for a baby named James. A baby that I have never heard my family talk about. And I find it odd that we have the same name. And that my dad NEVER called me James.
It doesn't bother me. I just wonder sometimes.
My mum was not really in the best of health for most of her life. In my early years, I knew her as a diabetic, a heavy smoker, and quite an impressive drinker. But for a few years before I was born, her health had meant that she was often quite weak or poorly. Because of this, it was decided that it would be dangerous for her to have anymore children. She already had my brother and 2 sisters, from previous relationships before she met my father. The way that it was always told to me while growing up, was this:
The doctors said she wouldn't be able to get pregnant again.
Then they said even if she did, she wouldn't be able to carry them full term.
Finally they said, if she did get pregnant, and carry it full term, then she would almost certainly die giving birth.
I remember being told many times, the story of how I almost killed my mum when she gave birth to me. In fact, a week after my mum died, my nan kindly informed me that she begged my mum to have me aborted because they were convinced she would die. You ever get the feeling that things are against you right from the very start?
Anyway, my mum did get pregnant, she did carry me full term, but she didn't die during my arrival. It messed her up quite badly though. She was in the hospital for about 3 weeks after I was born.
On a side note, my first day out of the hospital, I'm being carried by my nan through the hospital car park, when my sister cuts in front of my nan and accidentally trips her. My nan went flying and I ended up in a hedge.
You ever get the feeling that things are against you as soon as you hit the car park?
My name, while growing up, was Jamie. For school and everything, it was Jamie. For some reason though, my mum called me Jenks. That name seemed to stick with my family and all except my nan and dad, called me Jenks. My dad insisted on calling me Jamie my entire life.
When I was born, my parents had decided on calling me Jamie. Yet for some reason, when the nurse came around to take my name for the birth certificate, my mum told her that my name was James. No harm right? James and Jamie are pretty much the same name, and you can flip back and forth between them. But for some reason, my dad didn't like the name James.
Fast forward to my early teens, and while going through a case of family photos, I find an envelope with "Baby James' grave" written on it. Inside were 2 polaroids of flowers on a small grave, with no headstone. I did ask my mum about it, but all she said was, "Please don't ever get rid of them".
Fast forward to me being 32 and with my mum dead, there is now no real way for me to find out who baby James was. I could ask my nan, but honestly, I've since learnt so much shit about my family, that I don't think I could cope with more secrets and lies. I'm fairly sure that I am who I think I am, and I wasn't some baby stolen from outside the corner shop, to replace poor baby James.
I just find it odd that my mum had photos of a grave, for a baby named James. A baby that I have never heard my family talk about. And I find it odd that we have the same name. And that my dad NEVER called me James.
It doesn't bother me. I just wonder sometimes.
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