I’m generally a nice guy.
I liked to help people whenever I can, with the skills I had at my disposal.
At twenty-two years of age, I wouldn’t say I was in a position to make a big difference in anyone’s life, but I did what I could.
Dad had taught me from a young age, how to fix things. In a sense, I was an unlicensed mechanic, repairman, tiler and even a football coach. His motto was to fucking get things sorted yourself.
And naturally, word got around the neighbourhood.
I didn’t mind helping my neighbours, especially those who helped my family when things were rough. Dad passed away suddenly when he was changing a light bulb in the bathroom. He just keeled over and died. The doctors said it was a heart attack. I didn’t think anyone one in the family got over the tragedy. Especially mom.
She spent all that energy raising me and my younger bro, who was a dickhead. Mom had to be both parental figures for us, and that left very little time for herself. Couldn’t say I wasn’t moved by her.