A Stitch in Time...: Childhood Home

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Childhood Home

Fresh Scrubbed and Ready for Bed: left to right, my older brother Mike, me, my younger brother Mark. I'm guessing this was 1957 or 1958.

I lived in the same house from the age of 3 until 24. It's the longest I've ever lived in one place; it's much longer than I can imagine ever living someplace again. I seem to tire of a place after about 7 years; yearning for something different, something that will with who I am at that moment. Something that will feel like "me".

I have had homes that I liked, homes that I tolerated, homes that I loved. That 7 year itch hit me with all them. I've lived in my current home for 10 years, and yes.. I yearn for something much different.

Still, I look at this photo and have such memories:

The plaid wallpaper is tones of gray and yellow.
My older brother's pajamas were white, black, brown and orange. (how do I remember that?).
When we first moved into the house, I slept in this bed, sharing the room with my older brother, Mike.
I was a restless sleeper and would fall out of this bed almost every night hitting that table (sewing machine cabinet) on my way down. Sometimes I'd hit my head; sometimes an arm or shoulder. My upper body must have been a collection of permanent bruises.
As soon as they could, my parents switched Mark into this bed and gave me the "jr." bed- with half a railing - in the other bedroom.
Many a morning I would wake up with my arms twisted through the rails.
Eventually, they put me in a double bed to give me plenty of room of move.
My grandmother once stayed overnight and shared the double bed with me. I punched/hit her 3 times in my sleep. She never stayed over again.
When my youngest brother was born, he shared that room with me until he was 3.
When I was 9, I was moved back into this room, and didn't share it with anyone. The boys were put in the master bedroom, and my parents took the middle sized room. This was my bedroom until I moved out.
When I was 10, my mother (in a fit of decorating zeal) painted the ceiling true red, and put a carpet the same color on the floor. The walls were white . I was stuck with those decisions until I moved out.
In the few pictures I have of me from childhood, I never smile with my mouth open. My mother didn't either because she disliked her teeth. I think I just mirrored what I saw.
At that time, the three of us were a singular unit. Rarely was one of us punished or rewarded separately. What happened to one to happened to all.
That singularity changed as we all started school and completely dissolved by our teenaged years. Now I'm completely estranged from my brothers.
Look at my hair! It is as wide as my (very narrow) shoulders! Perms were a regular part of life back then.
I'd love to have a red room again. But this time, I'd put the color on the walls.