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I lived up north, where the temperatures were below freezing and the sun was a rare sight. I used to love ice-skating, and I would always go down to the frozen lake near my house. I've been skating on that lake ever since I could remember. Literally. From what my mom told me, even as a fetus I was skating on the ice. When she was pregnant she was skating. When I was a day old she skated with me in her arms. When I was 3 months old I was already playing on the ice. Right until the age of 17, I was skating.
That is, until the incident. The incident that cost me 20 years of my life. But we'll get onto that later.
When I was around 12-years-old, I entered an ice-skating competition in my local town. I won first place. Admittedly, there were only five other contestants, and some of them could barely stand on the ice, but still! I had won! From that point on, I ice skated competitively.
My mom loved that I was ice skating. She used to ice skate a lot as a kid, but she had an accident that prevented her from competing competitively. She used to come watch me ice skate on the frozen lake, a smile always on her face.
My dad wasn't as supportive. He wasn't really into ice skating. He thought of it as a mere hobby, not a sport. Instead, he had a huge devotion to football. Even though there were hardly any games around our location, he followed football teams avidly - he almost worshipped them. So did my brother Will. He and my dad would sit in front of the TV, yelling as some ball was tossed and some guy was tackled. Personally, I didn't really see the fun in it.
Maybe that's why me and my dad were never really that close. You see, Will was always his favorite. I think sometimes my dad even forgot he had a daughter. My brother revelled in it, too. He never wasted a second from telling me about the things he did with dad, what fun they had on the trip together. But fine, whatever, who cared if dad didn't love me? I had my mom who loved me.
That was how it was in our family. My mom loved me; my dad loved Will. And Will and I were always competing; always fighting. I remember one time we were at a festival - we were only young, barely in our teens yet - and my dad had come back with two ice-creams. Except, one had chocolate, and the other had strawberry. My dad handed me the strawberry and Will the chocolate. Of course he did. Didn't my dad know strawberry was the one flavor I absolutely hated? But no, of course he didn't. I told my brother to give me his chocolate, since he was fine with both flavors. But he wouldn't give it! So I started screaming, and I tried to get it from him, then we both started fighting each other, and alas, both ice-creams fell to the ground.
My dad got so mad at me. What about Will? But Will got away freely, whilst I had to suffer a scolding from my dad. That was how it was with us. Except, you would think with my mom then I would get the special treatment. But my mom was all about fairness, so she would treat both of us fairly. I suppose I loved her even more for that, but still - Will got double the love!
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