Who’s Bad?

BY Kieran O'Shea

Letter One

Dear John,

You would be as proud of Kieran as we are if you knew him. Right from the start he was a joy to have – sleeping, eating well, always bright and bubbly. He could walk by the time he was 11 months old and believe it or not, he could ride a small two-wheeled bike without help when he was barely three years. People always commented on his good behaviour and how well he ate. (He was the only child in his nursery who loved cabbage!)

Dear John,

The moans coming from my parents’ bedroom woke me with a jolt; I’d never heard a sound like it before. To my untrained ears it seemed my mum was being savagely attacked. Instantly I cried out, my heart racing. Mum came rushing in and after some comforting and parental assurances she explained she was just receiving a massage from my dad and there was nothing to worry about. My first sexual education lesson followed soon after in the form of me finding theKama Sutra, copies of Penthouse, massage oils and about 50 mail-order condoms in my parents’ bedroom drawer. Everything clicked. Even at such a young age I found it highly amusing how annoyed my father must have been to be interrupted mid-stroke.

Letter Two

He was super with construction toys and built the most amazing structures, which always had to be symmetrical. At school, his teachers loved him and we were always so proud to go to see concerts or productions where he was always given good speaking parts. He was very confident and spoke clearly. We thought our faces would crack from smiling when he was selected by his school to take part in a performance of La Boheme at a local theatre.

Micro Machines were my prize possessions as a child and I would obsessively collect all the army vehicles and soldiers I could lay my hands on. I would orchestrate bloody wars on the floor of my bedroom and manage, although not always successfully, to fend off the end of the world – except on Christmas Eve, a time of peace. I would line up the vehicles and army men to face each other, looking the enemy in the eye; taking cues from the Germans and Allies who did the same on no man’s land. I would slowly march them into the huge storage box I kept them in and would hum softly and rap my tongue against my teeth, simulating a military drum as the procession moved on. Both sides would consider their casualties and their purpose in their tiny plastic world, preparing for battle at a more suitable time in the New Year.

Letter Three

When he was young he loved sport, especially gymnastics and swimming. We were so proud of how confident he was in water and how well he could swim and dive.

When I was younger I used to be a keen swimmer. I grew tired of it relatively soon because as you progressed through the ability groups the amount of days you were required to swim increased. The scar by the side of my eye that I try to turn away from you all I have had for years and is the result of a recurring infection from swimming so much. The skin around my eye would on occasion swell like a golf ball; repeated infections have left a scar and made the skin hypersensitive. I have visited countless doctors about it but it remains to be properly healed. It is the main reason why I often find it hard getting close to people, both physically and emotionally. I grew to loathe swimming, but continued because I thought it made my mum and dad happy.

Letter Four

As a teenager he really gave us very little grief. I suspect it was the other way around – we caused him more stress! Working in education, with all the stress that it brought, led us to drink a lot more than we should have. Often these drinking sessions ended in bickering. Kieran’s answer was to retreat to his room and his music. I guess we taught him that one way to relax when stressed was to drink heavily.

I remember one of the cupboards in the kitchen looked like the inside of Dan Murphy’s. From a young age I would come home from school, throw on some music and swill down bourbon and lemonade and drink my dad’s beers. Inebriated, I would saunter around the house for a couple of hours singing at the top of my lungs. As my parents arrived home I would steal more drink and hide away in my room, barely able to stand by this point. They never found out as they were busy downstairs doing the much same thing.

Letter Five

On one occasion we had to pick him up at two in the morning passed out in the middle of town. How he managed to call us we’ll never know. In the morning Kieran eyed us knowingly; he knew that my initial outburst of rage would soon turn to the calm, focused, control freak behaviour he had witnessed before.

Walking home one particular evening my friend Jaime and I found ourselves being harassed by shouts thundering up the road behind us. Being used to such pleasantries in my home town, we didn’t flinch. Eventually a delightful gentleman saddled up screaming at us that we had “started” on him in the “fucking” club. This obviously wasn’t true. Two whippet-thin drunk kids talking about the amazing qualities of ELO weren’t au fait with such pastimes as smashing people. He and his arguing girlfriend started to gain ground on us and I saw an opportunity to escape the pair: turning down an approaching road.

We made it 20 metres and he came steaming around the corner screaming at us. As I was rooted to the spot in fear, he connected with me first. Next thing I was firmly planted on the cold, wet ground. Dazed as all hell, I staggered to my feet and saw him hold my friend in a headlock repeatedly smashing his face with his other fist. I ran at the guy not knowing what the hell I was going to do and knocked him down. My friend was quick to get up and in the speed of a heartbeat I had turned on my heels and started running up the road. Turning after a hundred metres I realised Jaime wasn’t with me. Watching the guy launch into him again I spluttered, turned my back and continued running away.

Letter Six

The only time he caused us any real worry was when he told us he had been doing drugs. It took a lot of courage and for him to tell us, as I suppose he thought we would go ballistic. I guess we were too numb with shock to be angry. We still think he’s too thin but he says he’s fine. On reflection, it was probably the next step from drinking to relieve stress. It took us years to get over it. We are happy it’s all behind him now.

At university I lived with a girl called Mary whose dad was filthy rich. He was head of pensions for a British bank and decided to buy a house and rent it to his daughter during her final two years of university. I received rent money from my parents every month during this period. Over the summer months, however, Mary’s dad would give us three months rent free. I felt that this information didn’t really need to be relayed to my parents; instead buying copious amounts of drugs seemed a wise investment. Soon after, I retired to my home town looking frighteningly undernourished and feeling somewhat mentally retarded. I explained the mess I was in physically and financially to mum and dad. I told them I was drug free and they cleared my debts. My recreational using started again six months later.

Letter Seven

His love of music and ability to create it have stayed with him and it was great to see him perform in a punk band in Melbourne. He is very gifted musically and has learnt to play numerous musical instruments. He was only nine when he amazed us by playing a huge church organ.

He achieved well in school, attaining good grades and reports. We could not have been prouder except when he got his 2:1 degree in print journalism. We cried when we heard the result and again at his graduation, where he looked so great in his gown and mortar.

Most of all, we are proud of the person he is. Very determined and independent, he has made his own way through situations others would not have tackled on their own. He went off to London on his own and then to Melbourne – making new friends with ease. He’s a good and generous friend, always willing to support those who need help.

We love him very much.

Anne & Des O’Shea

Out of sheer boredom I once stole a dildo out of my housemate’s drawer, wrapped it in a condom, slipped the bad boy up my arse, turned it to full whack and with cock in hand took a layer of skin off myself. As much as I’d like to tell you that I did in actual fact trip over with my trousers around my ankles and just… fell on it, I didn’t. I lodged it up there… to the hilt, mate.

Kieran O’Shea