Six years a child – the story of my conception

Age 6 was an interesting year for me. It was the year 2000, not much had changed but we lived under water, some bloke went on a space odyssey and my parents clearly just stopped giving a fuck. The first signs of this were small enough. One evening they sat me down at the dinner table and told me we were going to watch their favourite film (that was also turning 6 that year): Pulp Fiction.

The one catch was that there was one scene they were going to skip entirely, to save my innocent young mind.

We lit the fire, got wine and orange juice (guess which one was for me) and sat down to watch Tarantino’s masterpiece. Pulp Fiction remains one of my favourite films to this day, but at age 6 as Bruce Willis mounted a motorbike, said “Zed’s Dead” and the credits rolled, I was nothing besides incredibly confused. “What were ye going to skip?”

I innocently asked my parents, only for them to fall about the place with laughter, having forgotten to skip the Marcellus Wallace basement scene. While this is funny, and a bit fucked up, it's not the main event of the fucked up card that was my 6th year on this planet.

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