Skip to main content

Another Shot At It

As I mentioned the other day, my family passed around a box of questions, like conversation starters. One of my questions was "what would you change about your childhood if you could?" My mother was in the room, and although it may not have been the case, a I felt as though she were glaring.

I am the youngest of four sisters, quite a bit younger than some in fact. Because of our age difference, we all have different perspectives on certain aspects of our upbringing. For example, my oldest sister remembers living in Alabama and "living hand to mouth," as my mother would say. My father hunted squirrel to put meat on the table, and my sisters picked cotton for so many cents a bushel. I was born into that (and I will post pictures from that time later--yee ha), but I was two years old when we moved to Indiana and to relative prosperity. I was shocked when my grandfather skinned a squirrel in front of me and expected me to deliver it to the kitchen. In my life experience, squirrels were for running the tight rope of power lines, not for eating.

Anyway, despite the varied experiences of my sisters and me, in adulthood, we share some of the same observations about the way we were raised--coldly. There was no affection in our home except between us. There was no hugging or affectionate touching, although there was an occasional fly swatter to the back side and an occasional open-handed whack to the face when my mother determined it was warranted. This week, we were "reminiscing" about the time my mother caught my sister giving me a swirly, so my mother punished her by sticking her head in the toilet. We laugh about it now, but it served no purpose at the time other than to traumatize us all. You would like to think your mother wouldn't do that to you.

So, the other day when we were all sitting kindly around the Christmas tree, and I was given the question--what would I change about my childhood if I could--there wasn't much I could say. While my sisters waited for me to respond, all I wanted to say was that I wish my childhood had been affectionate. I wish I would have felt loved and wanted and liked. Instead, I said that despite our unified complaining, all of the aspects of our childhood serve to make us who we are as adults, and I kind of like myself as an adult. So, I don't know what I would change. While my statement was true, I do wish I had been treated with affection, and I do wish I would have heard the words "I love you" just once.

I also wonder how my life would have been different had I had brothers. Would you change anything about your childhood if you could?

Comments

dive said…
Heavy stuff, Robyn. Though, as you say, you have turned out rather well.
A shining example of triumph over adversity.
It makes me feel guilty that my parents were so wonderful, especially as I turned out such a cynical old curmudgeon. Perhaps there's a lesson there.
As for what I'd change? The dreaded outside privy of course; the spider-filled heart of darkness that traumatised my early years. Brr …

And spooky that we've both posted about squirrel skinning.
Scout said…
It is a little heavy, I guess, but it doesn't have to be. There are people who have survived unspeakable abuses, and I am not one of those. But struggles that seem relative to an observer aren't so relative to the person struggling? Know what I mean?
Gina said…
Hmmm, I'm going to wish that somehow the dynamic with my mother had been different. I was always a Daddy's girl, and in some ways, I think she resented that. I believe she still does to this day.
Anonymous said…
Robyn, what's a swirly?
I would have liked to have been home-schooled throughout my junior high and high school years so that I could have avoided the damage that teenagers do to one another.
Sassy Sundry said…
Ouch. I'm with Dive, it sounds to me as though you have worked on not raising your children that way. I wish that hadn't happened to you.

As for me, I'd change my parents turn to religious fundamentalism and would have kept me in public school instead of the twisted Christian school I went to from fourth grade on. That was my big trauma.
Scout said…
Gina: there is bound to be some amount of jealousy if a kid takes to one parent more than another, but it's almost inevitable, I think. I was probably more comfortable around my father because he demanded less, but we still weren't close.

Molly: A swirly is when you hold someone's head in the toilet and flush.

Sassy: that would have helped to mold you into a completely different person, I bet. Are your parents concerned that you haven't stuck with their religious fundamentalism?
Sassy Sundry said…
Oh, yeah. They've mellowed out a bit since the early 80s, but it is a bone of contention with us.
Anonymous said…
Robyn, I thought you handled that question extremely well, and was so glad I didn't get it. We were all holding our breath for you - we were really proud of how you handled it too.
Scout said…
Yeah, a sister commented! I wondered what you all thought of my answer. I sensed a sigh of relief.
Old Knudsen said…
A Swirly, you yanks are strange.
Scout said…
Old Knudson, is a swirly strictly an American form of sibling torture? I was sure it was universal.
Anonymous said…
A swirly -- good heavens, Robyn. I would never have considered giving my little brother a swirly, knowing that one day he'd be bigger than me and reciprocate. Plus, I think my mom would have swirlied me -- just like your mom did your sister -- if she found out about it. There are lines one does not cross.
Anonymous said…
This is your life, it made you who you are, right? I too wish there was affection in my home growing up. Instead it often seemed that my Mother took out the frustration of her world on me. It took me years to get over it and become who I am and to not still feel like her daughter but a woman in my own right. We are close now but only because I rose above it. It's not easy, is it?
Good post and Happy New Year!

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...