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Childhood Echoes
This is my sixth week in custody. While we screw on our Bakelite plugs, I try to remember my earliest childhood. My first memories flicker in a daycare center.
My mother usually had to leave very early in the dark to go to work at a very large factory. At the time, I didn't know that it was Buna in Schkopau.
I can't say how we got there, about 5 km away. Probably on a bicycle with a child seat. That was common back then.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
At the entrance to the huge factory, there were incredible crowds of people milling around. We crossed a seemingly endless covered bridge.
Then my mother left me somewhere until she came back to pick me up many long hours later, usually in the dark.
In 1968, my mother, my brother, who was five years older than me, and I moved into a beautiful new apartment with three rooms, a kitchen, bathroom, and telephone in Halle-Neustadt, less than 20 km north of Merseburg.
My parents had just gotten divorced. I don't remember my father.
Right next door, just one block away, there was a children's daycare center where I was dropped off on Monday mornings and picked up again on Friday evenings.
From there, I could see the windows of our apartment, where my mother would wave to me from time to time.
I have fond memories of the daycare center. During the day, we played with building blocks, dolls, and whatever else we could find. At night, I was surrounded by good friends.
One of them was called Thomas, just like me, but unlike me, he had dark skin. Together, we were always getting up to mischief.
Our teacher, Mrs. Zander, had express permission to spank us the ass, which she did from time to time.
Sometimes she took both of us, dark-skinned Thomas and me, to Bennstedt, a village near Teutschenthal where she lived, for the weekend.
We had a wonderful time in her house with its garden. Mrs. Zander was the best. That went on until I started school. That was in 1972.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe
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By Tommy H. JannotThis is my sixth week in custody. While we screw on our Bakelite plugs, I try to remember my earliest childhood. My first memories flicker in a daycare center.
My mother usually had to leave very early in the dark to go to work at a very large factory. At the time, I didn't know that it was Buna in Schkopau.
I can't say how we got there, about 5 km away. Probably on a bicycle with a child seat. That was common back then.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
At the entrance to the huge factory, there were incredible crowds of people milling around. We crossed a seemingly endless covered bridge.
Then my mother left me somewhere until she came back to pick me up many long hours later, usually in the dark.
In 1968, my mother, my brother, who was five years older than me, and I moved into a beautiful new apartment with three rooms, a kitchen, bathroom, and telephone in Halle-Neustadt, less than 20 km north of Merseburg.
My parents had just gotten divorced. I don't remember my father.
Right next door, just one block away, there was a children's daycare center where I was dropped off on Monday mornings and picked up again on Friday evenings.
From there, I could see the windows of our apartment, where my mother would wave to me from time to time.
I have fond memories of the daycare center. During the day, we played with building blocks, dolls, and whatever else we could find. At night, I was surrounded by good friends.
One of them was called Thomas, just like me, but unlike me, he had dark skin. Together, we were always getting up to mischief.
Our teacher, Mrs. Zander, had express permission to spank us the ass, which she did from time to time.
Sometimes she took both of us, dark-skinned Thomas and me, to Bennstedt, a village near Teutschenthal where she lived, for the weekend.
We had a wonderful time in her house with its garden. Mrs. Zander was the best. That went on until I started school. That was in 1972.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe