So it’s not the third day. I’ve been slacking on this challenge because I have tons of schoolwork to finish. But I thought I’d at least try and slip some answers in this morning (it’s 3:33am). 

So. My momma and poppa.

My father was a DJ named Christopher. I think he was like a year younger than my mother. They met at a house party sometime in the 1980s. He made some pretty silly mistakes. Went to prison. You get the idea. Thankfully (according to legend - otherwise known as information from my aunt) he gave his life to Christ while he was in jail. Which is pretty nice. I remember his tiny flat, and the Jungle music that’d be blaring from the speaker system every time my mother dropped me off at his, and how it always had a musty smell - probably from his smoking habits. Sometimes he’d try to make me dance to his music, and I’d laugh. The whole block always felt like it was vibrating. My father was young and fun and colourful and creative and talented. We went to the park sometimes, and he’d push me on the swings so high my jelly shoes felt like they were skimming the clouds. One day he pushed the roundabout a little too hard and I hurt myself. He was so sorry. I remember the apologies and the kisses. I also remember the girlfriend watching from a distance. I didn’t think much of her, although in retrospect I suppose she made the effort with me. But I wanted him with my mum.

My mother was named Janet. She was pretty and had nice hair. She worked for the council and drove a Renault Clio. On Sundays, she’d make us Chicken Tonight (remember that advert?) and we’d sit around our little round wooden table in our little kitchen in Pump Lane and eat together. I always slept in my mum’s bed and late at night, I’d tuck myself into the crook of her armpit and listen to her read ‘Rumplestiltskin’ aloud to me with the funniest accents for all the different characters. When she thought I was finally sleeping, she’d flick on the TV and watch ‘The Springer Show’. I listened sometimes. Probably shouldn’t have at that age, but whatever. I remember how she smelt of Perm Repair and this lemon body cream I can never seem to find in the shops. And how she’d make me Frosties in a huge bowl in the mornings before school. And how she’d watch me from the bedroom window as I played outside with the other kids just to make sure no one pushed me around or snatched me away. Sometimes for a treat, we’d randomly go to the Mc Donald’s Drive-Thru in the evenings for a Happy Meal. 

I’m speaking in past tense because neither of my parents are here anymore. They passed away before I hit the age of ten. But I remember every little thing. I don’t speak about them much. It used to hurt a lot, but now I can look back and say I’m glad I had the opportunity to know them - even if it was only for a little while. 

Mum… Dad… See you soon.