Wednesday, November 12, 2008

To be a child thanks!

I hated being a kid. Now don't get me wrong, my childhood was fine. There are only a few things that really stand out as being repulsive. I was very trusting and some very bad things that happened to me didn't hit me as "obviously wrong" until many, many years later. I may or may not get into all that at some other point. Right now I want to talk/blog about the agony of being a poor helpless child.

I have some kids you see. A sixteen year old boy, two fourteen year old girls, and my youngest girl is seven. If you have read my previous blogs you will know that I did not give birth to all of these children. In addition to the afore mentioned, it always seems that the kids on the block swarm my house and its the place to be after school or on the weekends... All. Weekend. Long.

I was raised in a blended family and we took in the ones that needed a little help.

I clearly remember sharing a room with an aunt that was having a disaster of a life with her mother. It wasn't long ago that I was at the 'My Schools' (or whatever its called) part of this lovely site and someone was looking for 'the one that had a mohawk in school way back when'. My aunt Penny. We don't have much communication now, (I forward emails but I never hear anything back) but let me assure you she has straightened up quite nicely.

I grew up in a family of nine. I was the oldest girl. Eventually I started refusing to miss school to babysit the young ones when my parents had something pressing to do because school was way more fun. I had crushes you see. I had to go to school and see what would happen in class. If 'he' (sitting RIGHT behind me ) would put his chin on my shoulder and try to cheat off my paper, or if 'the other he' (there were many) would come up to my locker and make plans for our fake date. "Alright see ya, pick ya up at 7" he would say. Both of us knowing that when I got red in the face I was way too shy (and had two older stepbrothers that were just not gonna have it). I wonder how different I would have been if the 'guys' weren't scared of my big bros. I still got pregnant at 16, so a lot of good that did huh?

Anyways, back to my origin of thinking.

Now that I look back on it, I HATED being a kid. I can still feel the feeling of utter despair I got when I had to wait on something to happen. When my parents told me we were going to be moving in a couple of weeks, I had my entire room packed within 20 minutes. And I lived with it that way for two weeks. I had a job by the time I was 13. I bought my own deodorant, toothpaste, and snacks. I paid for three years of drill team I did my own laundry. I didn't like to be told what to do so I did everything in my power to prevent that from happening. I tried to grow up way too fast and no one tried to stop me. I moved out the day I turned seventeen and proceeded to do EVERYTHING WRONG. No really, I fucked up with the best of them. But I was free! I I now had options. I still do. I have control. I have a car, I have my own mind to make up, I don't have to follow anyone else's rules, the world is mine to do with as I so choose. And I still fuck up sometimes.

I realize all this even more when I deal with my kids on a daily basis. They may even have it worse than I did. Back when I was a kid we had a lot more freedom than I give my kids. Especially my youngest. She told me the other morning that she "is the only one on our street that is not allowed to go in the street". I still say "Keep your ass out of the street! You are only seven years old and you still have to do what I say." I can actually see the despair start bellowing out of her ears when I repress her.

When I was little it was obviously a different world and I'm sure a million blogs have been written about our "abilities to run the streets from sun up to sun down without worrying our parents" so I will spare you.

Do you want to know the real reason all those other kids flock to my house? Well let me tell ya. Its because I trip out when my kids get out of my sight for more than a few minutes. And I'm scared of how they will act when they finally do get out of smacking range.

And maybe because I'm pretty damn cool and my husband rocks. Literally. ;-)

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