Prologue
It's funny the things you remember about your childhood, isn't it?
In my case, I always seem to remember the trivial things, you know? I remember clear as day the time I was chased all around my father's Pokemon dojo by a rather irate Machoke because I didn't bring it its daily supply of Oran Berries quick enough.
But…ask me to tell you the reason my dad left when I was thirteen, and I couldn't tell you. I've got nothing. Zilch. Zip. Can't remember. It's all a blank.
All I can remember is that I was happy to see the back of him.
Sounds horrible, doesn't it? How can someone be so happy to see their own father leave? I'm sure you're expecting some sort of big sob story as to why, so sorry to disappoint you. It's not like he beat me, or abused me, or spent all his waking movements shouting and screaming or criticizing me. He never did anything like that because he was never around to do stuff like that. He devoted all his time to Pokemon battling, day in, day out. Never really had time to be with his daughter. I can count on one hand the number of times my dad ever sat down with mum and me to eat dinner, how many times he read me a story before bed, how many times he took me to the park or the beach…All those typical "dad" things he never did. Stupid silly little things that were so insignificant compared to the hell other children suffered from their own fathers...
The memories I have of him all revolved around his Pokemon. Dad either owned or was active in quite a lot of dojos over the Kanto region. He wasn't even at home for most of the year. He was a Pokemon trainer, and duties to Pokemon came even above family. Apparently, he was pretty good, last I heard.
I grew up around Pokemon. I was forever forced into helping at the dojos. My dad had something of a fondness for what he called "powerhouses". Fighting, Rock; Steel…all those kind of Pokemon. I can't say I was particularly endeared to them.
You'd think that kind of early exposure to Pokemon would mould me into an eager trainer, wouldn't you? Not me. When I turned ten, and all the other eligible children were eagerly filling out their application forms for one of the three Kanto starters, I declined. I wasn't interested in Pokemon battling. My dad however was adamant that I follow in his footsteps and initially thought my refusal to apply for a trainer's licence and a Kanto starter had more to do with the type of Pokemon offered.
"Bwahahaha!" my dad had boomed with laughter. "That's my girl! Not interested in those puny Fire, Water or Grass types, eh? How about we fix you up with something a little more exotic? How about a tough Fighting type? A Mankey, perhaps. Or a Machop? A Makuhita?"
"No, thank you."
"Oooh, so it's a Rock type? Excellent choice. A Geodude, maybe? OR I could even get you your very own Onix! How many other kids your age could say they have an Onix of their very own?"
"No, I don't like any of them."
"Okay, okay, a tricky customer, eh? Well, Steel then! I don't think I could get you a Scizor or a Steelix, but what about a nice Magnemite? You'd be doubly happy since it's an electric type too!"
"No, dad. I don't want any of those Pokemon."
"Well, why the hell not? Do you realise what you're being offered here? Any other boy or girl would be delighted at getting a rare, strong cool Pokemon personally raised by their own dad for their starter! What's the matter with you, girl?"
"I don't want any of those Pokemon, dad, because I don't want to be a Pokemon trainer!"
I can't quite remember what happened after that. Needless to say, it wasn't pretty.
Not wanting to be a Pokemon trainer was on par with being a mass murderer when it came to my father. I'm pretty sure he didn't speak to me for weeks afterwards. As time moved on and after circumstances unfolded, I watched my friends eagerly embark on their own Pokemon adventures for the first time and felt no need or want to join them.
I don't know what made me decide not to be a trainer. Maybe it was my resentment at being forced into it. Maybe my impression of Pokemon in general was wrongly influenced by the actions and behaviour of the rowdy, disruptive and violent Pokemon my father owned. Maybe it was something else entirely…
Whatever the reason, I knew in my heart I was never going to be a Pokemon trainer.
That is…until an incident on my 15th birthday unceremoniously shoved it on me.