Another difficult word

On the 23 May 1986 my mother gave birth to my little brother. Also he seemed as he couldn't wait to be born and so my mother went quickly to the hospital, my brother fulfilled his part of the exercise in about 15 minutes time and both could return home on the very same evening.  They called him Reto - another word which exceeded my linguistic abilities back then and therefore I called him lovingly Rote.

From an inheritance point of view, the doctors tried to convince my mother not to have another child.  The chance that also he was going to have CF was at 25% A risk which my parents were willing to take. Rote was lucky and he grabbed his 75% chance to be born healthy and chose the right genes (well done Rote :-) )

Meanwhile I was still able to curve undisturbed through my life. The disease was still waiting somewhere in the background and I could go to school like any other child. Apparently I was even quite intelligent and before the first day at school I was able to read and to some maths. Therefore I was a bit disappointed when we should draw a picture on the very first day. Drawing was not really one of my strengths and actually my teacher managed to pick exactly the subject I struggled most with to begin with. "So I was waiting seven years to finally go to school and then I should draw??? What a waste of time!" - I thought to myself.

A few times it was discussed whether I should skip the first class but because this led sometimes to social problems for the child, my parents and my teacher decided against it and agreed that I should be keep waiting. So my brain switched to a hibernation until about the fourth class. Before that, learning was very easy to me and beacuse english or golf lessions for children were not as common and fancy as today I helped my neighbour, who was already in the sixth class, with her math homeworks. The fact that I was learning stuff that easily was not only a good thing. The shady side should follow soon...