Well folks, it’s Friday. The weekend has arrived and it’s found my husband and I relaxing and reminiscing about our childhoods, our weekends and basically the things we used to think were the bee’s knees.
Although I admit I thought so at the time, my parents weren’t really over the top strict.
Side note: In the summer the other kids were usually playing outside as I watched from my bedroom window on tiptoes, clad in pale yellow baby-dolls. (Bedtime was a sharp 7:30!) And on two separate occasions, I was grounded for two weeks, once, because a friend was overheard swearing (logic says I must be swearing too) and the other, due to the fact that I was caught riding my bike with no hands.
Alas, I digress.
I wasn’t allowed to be a hooligan, I wasn’t allowed to swear, as mentioned above, and I had to be respectful, which is basically the first two points summed up into one. Easy, right?
I wasn’t allowed junk food, they would’ve liked me to get good grades and I had lots of chores.
Case and point: doing the dishes after dinner, no we didn’t have a dishwasher, included; rinsing, washing, rinsing again, drying, putting away, clearing up leftovers, wiping counters, wiping the table, cleaning the stovetop and sweeping the floor. That was every night and only counted as one chore.
I wasn’t allowed to have short hair or wear make-up. They didn’t want me to be common and I often got in trouble for always having my nose in a book. Go figure.
Much to their dismay, I did not turn out to be a ballerina, an award-winning Irish dancer or a gold league soccer star.
But…there were the weekends. Magic. An enticing British series would come on and we’d cozy up by the roaring fire, consuming several pieces of delectable, whiskey-infused chocolate.
We’d hike the forested five miles to the tantalizing tangerine filling station and I was granted two Icy Cups from the big jar on the counter as a reward.
We’d ride our bikes down to the local pool and swim for free in the misty summer rain.
I’d play Queen, The Police, Pat Benatar, The Beatles, Yazoo, Air Supply and anything else I could get my music-greedy little hands on, using my parent’s state of the art stereo system.
Company would land in and I’d be allowed to watch TV as late as I wanted in my room on my tiny, orange plastic, black and white portable, a bowl of chips, licorice and a Root Beer float at my side.
Now that I have kids of my own, I know my parents weren’t all that strict. They were simply trying to survive while keeping me alive and unscathed by the not so savory things life has to offer.
I never wanted for anything and it turns out that what I thought was the bee’s knees then, still is and, I am in fact, unscathed.
I’m so glad you survived it Hazy….’cause we don’t know what we would do without you!!! You put it in writing just the way I remember it too. 🙂 ❤
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You mean this isn’t fiction?!
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Those were the days, Hazy! Very similar to my childhood. Your parents wanted to bring up a wonderful human being and I wish more parents were like that these days 😉
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Yeah…is it bragging to say I think they knew what they were doing? I’m confused! Anyway – everything turned out alright. 😀
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I think I’d give you my firstborn child in exchange for that jar of chocolate right now. After a bottle of wine, I’m feeling very mellow and chocolate would make it a perfect evening.
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LOL, Marilyn. I’ll trade chocolate for wine! ;0)
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Hazy, I harkened back to my childhood as I read your post. I was the youngest child of five, and I was the only girl. My mother wouldn’t let me play outside with my brothers or my friends in the neighborhood. I too sat at a window in a pretty pink dress looking out at the world playing ball in the side lot. I turned to books to abate the loneliness and then was accused of staying home sick from school just to read. I protested “no” but in reality my parents were right on. I’ve arrived here unscathed and instilled in me is a love of words and language that always accompanies so I’m never alone. But I no longer wear pink frilly dresses and watch others play ball. How ironic you found a career as a make-up artist!
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Ha ha ha…I have never even thought of my career as a piece of irony, but you’re right!
I was an only child until I was almost nine, so we’ve trudged similar paths, PC, but, like you, I have no regrets…not even for the hell I got when they caught me reading under the sheets way past my bedtime. ;0)
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Nice tribute to your parents.
There is something terribly skewed in our modern society that skewers “strictness” (as you call it) as if it were abuse and lauds permissive neglect as if it were the path to spiritual liberation.
It sounds to me like your parents done good.
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Yes Tony, thanks.
And you’re right – somehow rules and expectations, nowadays, are translated into ‘obstruction of justice’ and a lot of the kids get away with, well, most things.
There are some good ones out there, though!
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