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When I was YOUR Age...Part 1

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader

2011-02-06

I can’t help think that by today’s standards, my childhood positively sucked. No iPhone, no television in my room (although I did have a pink princess phone) no Internet—hell, no computer! But here’s the real kicker — not only didn’t I have a room of my own until I was about eight or so, I had to share sleeping space with my PARENTS. And as for the bathroom, I had to share that with four other people, one of whom was a shower-aholic. My childhood dream as a little girl wasn’t getting a pony, it was having a second bathroom and an answering machine. While my brother was draining the heater of precious hot water, the phone rang off the hook for him.

So when I see co-workers and customers sweat details about the décor in their kids’ rooms, I can’t relate. My childhood memories of mom and dad’s room include my crib, later a twin bed, shoved against one wall. A couple of bureaus, a double bed with headboard, and a shortwave radio with a huge speaker were the other big furniture items. Throw in a toy baby carriage heaped with stuffed animals and dolls, plus all the clutter a couple of adults manage to acquire in 20 years of marriage, and you have a room that is functional, not fancy. Oh, did I mention the tripod my dad used to hang his slacks on?
As a kid, however, I didn’t really feel deprived. I did want that extra bathroom, but one of the best sounds of my childhood was hearing my parents snore. I knew all was right with the world.

So I mentally roll my eyes when the frustrated decorators just can’t decide what to do with a room. I ask apathetic teenagers about their favorite colors, I ask their moms the square footage of rooms. I try not to get sarcastic when mothers whine about the appropriateness of certain room “themes.” Listen, when I was your kid’s age, I shacked up in mom and dad’s room. Inappropriate? Well, screw you too. We were thankful to have a roof over our heads, and in the tradition of many families, Latino and non-Latino, we just made do. We weren’t throwing grandma out of the house just so I could have a room of my own, although when she died, I did get my own space. I remember it was painted “Alice Blue.” I can’t remember the paint brand, but I remember that color. And I had pink gingham curtains. And that’s ALL the decorating I could remember getting, besides a few horse posters. And I didn’t even get a chance to pick out the friggin’ paint color! Forget about a “theme.” I was happy to have a room with a door I could close.

Sharing a room with your parents gets a little awkward once you’re past a certain age. When my brother moved out and I got an even bigger bedroom, it wasn’t like I was into decorating that, either. The horse posters probably went up in that room, but I don’t remember a theme. I do remember going from a tiny, very warm bedroom to one that seemed like a concert hall, and chilly to boot. Soon, the room filled up with too much crap to be properly “decorated” and it’s only been recently that I decided to do a little something with the room. Perhaps as a result of my childhood, my room is now pink and white. I proudly show customers the curtains I used in my room (pink). It’s still a work in progress, and will be for quite some time. I want it to look like a little girl’s bedroom. This probably creeps my customers out, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. I don’t want my room to “grow” with me as I “mature.” I want the room I should have had when I was eight.

But I didn’t realize how deprived I was until I heard parents and children around me worry their heads off. From their viewpoint, my childhood probably looks pretty sad. To me, it’s looking better and better as time goes on. The technology sucked, but at least I didn’t have to worry about visitation rights. I’ll trade sharing a room with my parents over being a child of today. Now, if I can just get a Hello Kitty lava lamp.