My mother once told me that trust is a fickle thing.
She called it a variable, a strange force that could make people walk through a bad end with a smile on their face.
She told me that back when I was in elementary school.
At first, I never truly understood why she always repeated those words to me.
But the realization began to chip away at my mind during our annual school family days, when all the other kids would bring their parents in pairs, cheerfully participating in the Tug of War.
I was always the odd one out.
Because my mother was a single parent, she would normally show up entirely alone. But my family dynamic wasn't so simple.
"Hey, brat! Are you really going to let that kid beat you like that?" my uncle Eric would loud-mouthedly tease me from the sidelines.
"Yeah! Stop daydreaming and let's go already!" my other uncle, Edward, would roar, delivering a heavy slap to my back.
"Hey, that hurts, Pops!" I'd complain, rubbing my shoulder.
