I grew up in an era, in the late 60s and early 70s, where back doors were never locked. Children were sent outside to soak up the vitamin D and drink from water hoses. Our parents didn’t care what we did, not because they were negligent, but because kids just needed to be kids. Besides, how else would all the moms have time to roll their wet hair in bristle rollers, drink a Tab, and have a Virginia Slim cigarette with a bunch of kids underfoot? We’ve definitely come a long way, baby.
As my momma’s only child & the only minor of either parent growing up at home in rural Dallas County, I slept with my mother until I was at least 5 years old. My parents had the Rob & Laura Petrie matching full size beds with wooden headboards that looked a little Spanish. I can remember the aqua and royal blue velvet flocked bedspreads like it was yesterday. My father often sleepwalked and could be quite disruptive, occasionally standing on his head in the kitchen because he was dreaming he’d swallowed a screw. Separate beds meant everyone stayed well rested. But, alas, it became time for me to spread my wings into my own bedroom, where, in my 5 year old mind, there was a gnarly, evil, pointed-tooth demon living in my closet and a witch who camped out under my bed each night, hoping to grab a little girl toe. These were my 5 year old monsters.
To read more please log in or subscribe to the digital edition. http://www.etypeservices.com/Forney%20MessengerID423/
- Log in or Subscribe to post comments.