The Sins of Thy Father

The Sins of the father are passed down to the son. No words hold truer to my past than these. I never new my father. The most that was spoken about him was that he was a capsuleer for a spell and he isn’t around now! Mother never spoke of him, mentioned his family, or said whether he was alive or dead. Anytime I tried to pry some info out of Mother she would get hotter than an overheated afterburner. But because of my father I became the capsuleer I am today.

It began when i was young. Always trying to make friends and be social but every time I got close to another child their families took them away or ran me off. I never new why and Mother was no help, as usual, in giving me the answers I wanted. I did manage to make a few friends. Mainly they were war orphans but they soon died of disease or were collected by the government! As i got older, the other children and their families treatment of me got dangerous to the point where Mother and i moved stations several times. It would all be fine for a few weeks, months if we were lucky, and then it seemed like some change came over everyone who lived near us. Until one lucky day, for me not the other boys, I never new why i got this treatment but it all came to light as i was deciding a career choice.

The day started off as usual. Angry eyes staring me down, whispers as I passed. I wasn’t doing anything unusual  that day but the whispers seemed louder than normal. As i was walking through the station looking at some Minmatar career brochures I got called to a shop. I remember it taking me a few minutes to realize they were talking to me instead of about me. The last few minutes that I remember before my “memory loss” was of  four older Minmatar males asking me questions. “How does it feel to be dumber than a Gallente hooker?” “Do you like being lower than Ammar shit?” “Do you plan on selling out like your father?” To this day I don’t know what happened other than what Concord put on file. But what i do remember is hearing that last question, a haze going over my eyes, and the scene of the four boys  on the ground coming back into focus. Before I had a chance of even thinking about running or anything else a hand grabbed my arm and pulled for what felt miles into my home.

Snapped back into reality by constant packing noises and a slap to the face about every 5 minutes i finally realized that I was in my room and Mother was doing the slapping. At that point I went ballistic trying to get Mother to explain to me what they meant by sellout. As usual she avoided the questions I asked but that changed when reports were coming in about the knocked out boys. On the shuttle ride to our next home she finally decided to tell me the story of my father. Who he was, what he did, and whether he was dead or alive. Ill never forget her story. Ill never forgive my father. Not until I hear his side of the story!   TO BE CONTINUED…