Public - Written
For those of you who failed to understand the point of my last entry, I suggest you disregard this one, as well. I am not seeking empathy or pity, nor am I attempting to explain or excuse my own character.
As before, I am simply...talking.
My father wasn't a wizard. There are a good many things I could say to describe the man, but none of them seem relevant or particularly polite - and that ought to say something significant, as I've never concerned myself with matters of politeness. Suffice to say, he was a muggle, and we did not see eye to eye on most issues.
I'm certain I had positive experiences with him, few and far between though they were, but the closest I can recall is an incident some thirty years ago.
It must have been close to four in the morning. Nearly dawn, at any rate. My father woke me, pulled me out of bed and into the sitting room, bade me sit beside him. The television was on - something for which I have never since held any appreciation - and he was watching footage that was of such poor quality, I couldn't tell at first what it was.
I realized, finally, what I was seeing: the lunar landing. The first steps of the human race on an alien terrain. Unimpressed though I was with muggles even then, I couldn't help but feel awed at the enormity of that accomplishment. The perseverance, the...ingenuity and drive of a society which could achieve such an endeavor.
At nine years of age, I understood and was humbled by it. Pure ambition and the perceivable, undeniable results of such.
My father put his hand on my shoulder and, for a moment, just a moment, I thought I was sharing something with the man beside me. Some great secret, some...bond.
And then he said to me, "Severus, look what we can do without magic. What has your kind ever accomplished?"
Your kind.
My most memorable positive experience with my father: conditioning for intolerance.
[Filtered away from Mozenrath]
And somehow, somehow, I am expected to know what it is to be a mentor.
He wishes to talk to me. Not as a warden, but as - ...I find myself increasingly at a loss for words.
Perhaps I spend far too much of my time putting them to paper.
As before, I am simply...talking.
My father wasn't a wizard. There are a good many things I could say to describe the man, but none of them seem relevant or particularly polite - and that ought to say something significant, as I've never concerned myself with matters of politeness. Suffice to say, he was a muggle, and we did not see eye to eye on most issues.
I'm certain I had positive experiences with him, few and far between though they were, but the closest I can recall is an incident some thirty years ago.
It must have been close to four in the morning. Nearly dawn, at any rate. My father woke me, pulled me out of bed and into the sitting room, bade me sit beside him. The television was on - something for which I have never since held any appreciation - and he was watching footage that was of such poor quality, I couldn't tell at first what it was.
I realized, finally, what I was seeing: the lunar landing. The first steps of the human race on an alien terrain. Unimpressed though I was with muggles even then, I couldn't help but feel awed at the enormity of that accomplishment. The perseverance, the...ingenuity and drive of a society which could achieve such an endeavor.
At nine years of age, I understood and was humbled by it. Pure ambition and the perceivable, undeniable results of such.
My father put his hand on my shoulder and, for a moment, just a moment, I thought I was sharing something with the man beside me. Some great secret, some...bond.
And then he said to me, "Severus, look what we can do without magic. What has your kind ever accomplished?"
Your kind.
My most memorable positive experience with my father: conditioning for intolerance.
[Filtered away from Mozenrath]
And somehow, somehow, I am expected to know what it is to be a mentor.
He wishes to talk to me. Not as a warden, but as - ...I find myself increasingly at a loss for words.
Perhaps I spend far too much of my time putting them to paper.