I was happy, I wasn't beaten, and I lacked nothing. But it wasn't what people expect - it was very much sort of pinching and scraping. I don't know how my mother did it.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I was ten when I got my first serious beating. It was rough.
If only my folks had beaten me, I could have gotten some material about my miserable childhood. But as it is, I've had a great life.
How happy had it been for me had I been slain in the battle. It had been far more noble to have died the victim of the enemy than fall a sacrifice to the rage of my friends.
It was a fairly happy childhood. My father was working away, and my mum brought up five kids all on her own.
I was strong and healthy and I was enjoying what I was doing.
My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.
I was a sickly child, not very strong physically. I wasn't really the greatest in school. I didn't really excel in anything particularly. But I was happy with who I was.
My childhood was happy, joyful but very difficult.
I wasn't happy at all as a child. I was very privileged and knew extraordinary people, but I felt very lonely: my mother thought I was extremely difficult and my grandmother was extremely severe.
I was never happy, and neither were many of my friends. We were just normal kids that were not so excellent at what society wanted from us at that time.