When I first realized that my parents were not good people, I thought that perhaps I might just be missing some information. I thought that after I had children of my own, I would learn something I hadn't hadn't known before, and then I would understand my own parents. And so I had children, and I waited. I waited to once feel so much anger that I could beat them until the blood showed through their jammies, to once feel so much contempt for them that I could leave them in the same diaper all day because I wasn't interested enough to change them, to once feel so much hate for them to lock them in their room for weeks or months on end. And guess what? I still haven't felt it. Not even once. Normal people don't feel like that towards their children. I pity my parents, for never having felt this crazy love I feel for my kids. What a sad thing to miss out on.