On the first morning of my duties as Master; Anakin Skywalker had entered my world with as much indisposition as a flea. He took up residence within my very skin and followed me from room to room. When I think back now I curse myself for having been so vengeful as to have pushed him away. I had personally lifted him under the arms and deposited him in a chair by the table under the threatening instruction to stay put. Dear Reader I can even recount for you what I made for breakfast that morning because it is the same breakfast I had made for myself in all of my years of independence. It was the same breakfast made for me by my Master and by the nursemaids before he. Upon presenting it to the little boy I was furious to see him turn away with disinterest. What a little imp!
"You'll have no breakfast at all if you don't eat that," I had said with more anger than I would ever have shown otherwise. I turned in his general direction, for he had wandered over to the window, and found him looking at me with large and frightened eyes. Immediately he took his place at the table and dutifully spooned every morsel into his mouth. I stared in shock at the compliance this little flea was capable of and resigned myself to a relatively easy job from there in. Yes, I know! Laughable now. I knew little of his past. He simply-was. I did not understand his increasingly odd relationship with food or worse still his hero worship of every drop of water. His sleeping routine consisted of anything but a routine and I would find him over the coming weeks asleep on the floor, leaning against a wall during training or curled up in one of my (once neatly folded) set of robes.
My little Padawan learner was nothing like what I expected as he begged and demanded attention, pushing me away and loathing me when I complied. I tried to befriend him and he laughed at me. I tried to father him and he laughed at me more.
"I am your master," I would shout with fury as he disobeyed me time and again. His cheeks would smirk and he would cast his eyes downward. I knew then why they train them so young. Every single night we would fight and argue as Anakin lazily awaited some form of punishment and that very same night he would stand in the doorway to my bedroom awaiting admittance. I would always cave. He would clamber onto the bed and stare at me with innocent adulation. His questions never ended and I was thankful when the pauses between words increased, when he yawned sleepily and smacked his lips in a way I have never known an adult to do. We would sleep then, both of us peaceful. Then upon awakening, the dream would burst and we would be back to our tumultuous relationship of arguments. Each month he grew taller and his retorts became more sarcastic. Before I knew it my once cherubic little charge had grown into a surly and spiteful teenager and I had often twirled my lightsaber in my hand with the thoughts of murder-suicide.