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Hello! My name’s Jane. This is my story how my parents raised me. I still can’t forgive them for what they forced me to do. And I don’t understand why they treated me like that. Can you help me? Or at least, give me some support…
I have never been a good girl, like a tender flower from a greenhouse. Like my grandparents, my parents owned a farm, with different animals, huge fields and everything else. So, I learned to manage the farm issues even before I started talking. No, I was never forced to do such things. But I couldn’t help learning it when the whole family was harvesting or farming animals around.
Since I turned 15, they took me as an adult person. So, I worked along with everyone. I had my duties – to feed chickens, rabbits, cows and daddy’s horse, and also to clean in the stalls, collect eggs and even vaccinate the animals. I didn’t treat pigs – it was really hard and dangerous. Pigs are not as peaceful as they seem (if any of you ever lived on a farm, you’ll get my point). But a young girl, like me who had no special physical development had nothing to do with them. They could just gobble me up.
Our garden was our shared responsibility. In the middle of the summer, everyone went out to harvest. We even hired some workers. Well, I didn’t take part in trading at all. It was my mum’s duty – to agree with contractors, sign agreements and all that jazz. Those who ever been to a farm know what a hard work it is. And it’s also very… natural, because animals have no idea of shame or morality. These are totally human issues.
So, I learned how everyone reproduces and how boys differ from girls at a very early age. Other things were not a secret for me either. I knew very well where the meat in the soup and in chops came from. And I didn’t even become a vegetarian. This is a natural process – birth-reproduction-death, so what? Though my friends asked me how I could do that. The rabbits were so cute anyway. And I fed the chickens with my own hands. I don’t know how, but I still could (vegetarians, don’t beat me).
Apart from the animals we ate and sold, we had two huge alabai dogs, which guarded our places and helped my dad to graze the cows. And we had a cat, a usual one, tricolor and not purebred. Though my parents didn’t think her a pet, it mostly hung out in the house. Mum and dad didn’t love her. But they understood that in the countryside, next to the grain and feed reserves, a cat was a necessity. She was catching mice. Her name was Minnie.
