Amazing People

I hate my parents. Yes, you are not mistaken. I really said it. My parents used to make a terrible impact on me trying to turn me into a genius. They were the real jet set and dreamt of their son also being extremely intelligent when he grows up. In my childhood I was brainy and quite ingenious, and rather self-conscious. Instead of boosting my confidence my parents would always tell me I had to work harder at least to get some credit. Most parents brainwash their children but mine were really pushy and malicious.  I never played with other children in the yard; I read so many books that I couldn't cram them into my room; my face was so pale that you would easily confuse me with a dead man.

At the age of twenty I realized that there is a big difference between a famous scientist and a genius. Scientists are usually appreciated and praised.  Although this is hypocrisy, it's a nice bonus.

Geniuses are usually forgotten and poor. As a rule they are more prolific but frantic and can't take care of themselves.  But these thoughts came into my mind too late – I couldn't help being a genius and my turning point was way back in the past.

During my entire life I did a lot for science and for people but got nothing in return.  Reflecting the whole century, I could hardly look at my own reflection in the mirror.

It's not easy to have interpersonal relationships with such an extraordinary man, that's why the brilliance of love was always out-of-reach for me.  Only once in my life did I meet a woman able to understand and to support me. She was a psychic. Or maybe she was an opportunist.  After two or three dates she stole valuables from my apartment and disappeared. But what I really miss is not the money, expensive paintings or jewelry. I miss her the most.

Sometimes geniuses are like handicapped people. I mean they don't lead regular lives, they often don't have normal families and friends; they don't celebrate New Years and Christmas. The joy of life was less available to me than to disabled people.  

The life span of a genius is short. And here I am lonely and sad in my declining years. I feel like in my teens sitting in the room full of books and dust and trying to understand if all my inventions and scientific work was worth my empty and quite unhappy life.

My name is Albert Einstein and I hate my parents.