You want to know what the difference is between me and them?

Why would I know.

I don’t know about them.

You think I know what happens in their day to day life? What they do? How they think?

Do you think I’m some sort of magical mind-reader? Able to fully understand everyone and thing around me?

What kind of miracle do you think I am?

Whatever it is, maybe you should look at a realistic answer.

If you really want me to give an answer, I only know one difference.

They don’t have parents that call them worthless everyday.

They don’t look at you and ask why aren’t you someone else.

They don’t tell them lies about the future.

They don’t deny them of joy.

They actually care.


They say something to them everyday that inspires them.

They support them.

They sure don’t tell them ‘No, you’re retarded for ever wanting that.’

They don’t reject you and never look back.

They actively participate in their lives.

They actually personally cared for their child when they were growing up.

They didn’t only show up at 9pm at night and 8am in the morning.

They helped them with things.

They tried to be a part of their life, and not stand to the side expecting.

They didn’t go home to hear ‘Get out of the house’ when they were 12.

They actually knew their child.

They weren’t two faced about things.

Their child didn’t have to go through suicide help in elementary.

Their child doesn’t detest coming home.

Their child isn’t scared to request something from their parents.

Their child doesn’t own a blog in which they shed tears typing entries.

Their child isn’t me.

They, unlike you, were actually parents.

Or maybe, I, unlike them, wasn’t actually a son.