I was always the responsible one. As long as I can remember, it was expected of me to know my shit. My parents told me they didn’t have to worry about me. It gave me a lot of independence, but also none of the parental emotional support a little kid needs.
I was also the smart kid. It went well together with the responsible bit. I got attention and praise for it, and the adults left me alone. As long as I kept my grades up, I could do whatever I wanted, and my parents would never know if I didn’t tell them. Thank God there were no drugs in communist Bulgaria back then. No gangs. No guns. Not many ways to get in real trouble.
I still have a scar on my right knee from falling off my bike and cutting it on a piece of glass. I could barely walk, but I managed to hide it, despite it bleeding profusely. I knew I wasn’t gonna be in trouble if I didn’t ask for help.
