Even before I started elementary school, I had angered my mother several times and been kicked out of the house.
Even when I cried and begged to be let back in, I wasn’t allowed for a while.
Sometimes, when it got dark, I would hide in the shed in the garden.
I remember my parents coming to look for me later and saying things like, “Here he was hiding.”
Once, when it was getting dark, I was crying at the front door, begging my mother, “I’m sorry, please let me in,” when a young woman happened to pass by, stopped, looked at the situation for a while, and then, feeling sorry for me, said to my mother, “Please forgive him. He’s so pitiful. Please let him in.”
My mother, however, looked like she was thinking I was interfering and dismissed my concerns, saying, “It’s discipline, leave him alone.”
Regarding reprimands and punishments against me, my mother was in charge, and I was rarely reprimanded or punished by my father.
When I watch the horror movie Carrie (1976), there’s a scene where Carrie’s mentally unstable mother scolds her and locks her in a storage room. While it’s not as bad as in the movie, it reminds me of the times my own mother used to scold me.
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