In the Dark Ages when the Old Baguette was a Petit Pain-in-the-Necque, "happy" families were supposed to be large and jolly. A mama, a papa, and an only child used to be a recipe for disaster. The kid would be spoiled, the parents stressed out. The little family would be labeled dysfunctional. Who'd want to live with them in their little home? No one. Who'd want to visit? No one. How very grim!
Nowadays, there are more families with only children than ever before in our country's history. I wonder how they are faring. I was an only child, but I was also a happy child. I'm still an only child, and I'm still happy. My parents were happy, too. Our family fared well indeed. Strained conversations, uncomfortable silences, mean laughter, and anger were rarities. People did want to live with us, so they'd often move in for a week, a month, a year or two. Yes, a year or two. Visitors arrived with regularity and actually argued over who'd get to sleep where in our small home. Mother made the most unusual places seem the most desirable. Our ***** suite was under the baby grand piano; the **** suite was under the dining room table.
My parents made it a practice to tell me why they had raised me as they did. "We did X when you were one because .... We told you Y when you were three because .... " I know the whats, whys, and wherefores of my upbringing, and I'm grateful. No one will tell me whether or not I'm spoiled.
I said "strained conversations, uncomfortable silences, mean laughter .... were rarities." I lied. They were non-existent, but saying that sounds like denial. Anger's another matter. I remember Mother's getting angry twice. She couldn't take off the cap of a tube of Colgate toothpaste, so she threw it on the floor. She thought she was alone, but I saw this fruitless exhibition of temper. She got mad at me in Paris because I could get where I wanted to go without a map. My father and I had 2 major altercations. We "exchanged heated words" over how to stand on a ladder. We also "exchanged heated words" during the seven mile drive from our apartment to downtown Chicago. He made me get out of the car in front of the Art Institute. We were both shocked, so I got back into the car in front of the Art Institute. What the argument was over remains a mystery, but after seven miles and an evictioon it was over. He also got mad at me in Rome because I could get where I wanted to go without a map.
ReplyDeleteellen- love these stories- i'm sorry i never got to meet your parents.
ReplyDeleteyour story telling is amazing. you have such a gift! i still remember when you moved in... if my memory serves me right i slept on a cot at the foot of your bed that summer