Eh, my dad wanted me to not be teased because of clothes or whatever. Except I saw through the bullshit and didn’t ask anything. So he basically forced me to wear the ugly shit he thought would look good. When all you can wear is ugly shit picked by your well-meaning parents, ya knaw.

“Demonstrative consumption” is the word. It hurt my social ties with those I’d want to talk to, but was ashamed of this, much more than fucking poverty probably would.

He had sort of a trauma from his own childhood, but that’s frankly no excuse because he didn’t even try to talk to me about this. I’d tell him it’s a school half-stacked with children of thieves (aka government workers, it’s not USA so I won’t take any bullshit about “hard-working administrators”, a different part of the world), so, first, I’d prefer to have clear cultural separation from them, second, I didn’t want to be there. The dumb fat pig moron wouldn’t listen, he thought me complaining is the problem so he should find some way for me to waste my resistance energy.

Well, those little jerks played a prank on him, which I did try to prevent, but as you’ve probably guessed, he thought my resistance to his good wise decisions to be the main threat, so they succeeded. He tried to blame it on me later. I do feel bad for him, but he deserved every bit.

OK, so much for memories.