This week, up at Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, there's a whole bunch of prompts to choose from.
I could... write about summer where I'm at. Um... it would be too simple... and boring. It's hot. I run the kid around most of the day and cater to my husband. Oh. And do normal household chores. Not much to tell...
I could... write about what I've done on Pinterest (one of my FAVORITE time-sucking sites!). I've done so much and (unlike Mama Kat) don't have a board of "What I've Tried", although... NOW I'm going to start one. It's such a fabulous idea. And so... I'd have to search through literally THOUSANDS of pins to find them, so I won't... today. Another day... maybe. It's a new goal.
As a writer that needs some push sometimes, I felt the need to go with something that I might not want to do. It might hurt. Heck, it will hurt me. So... here we go.
5.) When you were your youngest child’s age, what were you like? Would you have been friends with your child? Why or why not?
My youth has a lot of memories. Memories that I remember and cherish, and memories I'd really really like to forget. Pinpointing an age brings those harsh memories flooding back.
I was 8. I was in third grade. I wasn't perfect, but I was compassionate. I read a lot. My friends and I were all "smart". School smart. We all got straight A's and we read. We used big words that a lot of 8-year-olds don't even know, but we did... and we knew what they meant. And we sang LOTS of folk-type songs (music was a big thing in my school... you know before the horrible budget stuff all happened). We respected all adults. I had a few really close friends. We'd go stay the night at each other's houses, brush each other's hair. We shared our hopes, our dreams... everything... almost. But... I didn't share my secrets. My secrets would make me different. My secrets would make my friends think I was weird... or so I thought...
My secrets, even as an 8-year-old, were very dark. Things were going on in my life that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. I'll simplify it to say like many many children, all over the world, I was abused as a child. I was told not to tell anybody. I loved the person who abused me and didn't want that person to be in trouble or "go away forever". And so... I didn't. I'm sure because of this secret, I appeared "weird" anyway. I'd always think that everybody knew. And they just were my friends out of pity, that they felt sorry for me. (and just so ya know... I've had "the talk" with all my kids. They know that if anybody touches them in an inappropriate place or manner or says anything to that affect, to tell me or someone else with authority. It's not their fault.)
Another secret was that I was "adopted". Not in the "full" sense, but by my step-father. Why nobody was supposed to know... I'll never understand. It's really not that big of a deal. But when you are the only blond person in a brunette family, and you say they're your parents... people, especially kids, just kinda don't believe you.
So, in a nutshell, I hid a lot of things. I still do. But... I was a great friend, as were my friends. We supported each other, very rarely had any type of argument, and agreed on so many things.
My daughter on the other hand...
My youngest child is 8. She's beautiful, she's fabulous, she's very outgoing. But... she's a brat. So are her friends.
In today's world, kids are a bit different.
They are so much more competitive. "I call that!" OMGosh! It gets on my nerves. Things they can't even touch, things on the tv. Apparently, only one kid at a time can "like" something. Because... someone already "called it". So weird. They are always all trying to compete with each other for who did what the most or who knew who longer. Like it even EVER matters...
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When times were different...
I still love the crap out of this little girl! |
Then there are the parents that pretty much let their children do everything. My kid is NOT perfect, by any means. But... I had a parent and child come over once. The child decided to bounce and throw a ball in my house. The ball hit a glass globe (and that's how I found out... by the "clink"). I quickly came out of the kitchen and said, "There's no ball-throwing or bouncing in the house. You guys can go in the back yard and do that." I am not kidding, the child wrapped her arms around the ball, turned to the mom and said, "Mom..." (Total lack of respect here, huh?) And the mom replied, "It's one of her rules. I guess her house isn't child-proof." Umm... Wow. As far as I know and knew (at the time), it's a staple rule in most homes. It's just not something you DO! Anyway... getting to my point...
My daughter is surrounded by this type of disrespectful attitude and often has to be reminded to respect adults, opinions, and people, in general. (At least when I'm around. I sure hope she acts better when I'm not.)
All these kids argue a lot. They pick little things about each other and "not like" each other anymore. All. The. Time. There is more drama in an 8-year-old's life today than I ever remember. Someone will start a "group" and have all those kids "not like" someone because they are wearing ugly shoes that day. My kid gets her feelings hurt easily and a lot. I try to toughen her up, but it still happens. No... I'm not saying she gets bullied, by any means. I just see that she can't take it very well. But I know that she does it too. She gets the "talk to" all the time from me. About how to treat people. About how to be a good friend. About how not to spread rumors and start them, too. (I volunteer a lot at the school and am amazed by the gossip these kids generate. It is craziness, I tell ya!)
There are times, though, when my daughter is very caring... very loving... very compassionate... a very good kid. But it's all the times that she's not which makes me say...
In another nutshell. No. I would not be my child's friend. Then again, I wouldn't be friends with MOST of these kids today. I wouldn't "not like" them, I just wouldn't be friends with them. It blows me away. I'll continue to counsel and teach my daughter about friendship and other replationships. I hope it's within her to be the person I'd like her to be, instead of the majority of the time being a little Diva-ous Brat. And make no questions about it. I love my daughter. It's just the journey to her becoming a grown-up that is frustrating.
Thanks for visiting and getting the inside scoop of my head. I said this post would hurt. It hurts in more ways than one. Re-living my childhood and admitting I wouldn't be my daughter's friend. One day, I hope things will change on the latter.
Getting off that topic, please go visit
Mama Kat and visit all the other wonderful writers who inspire me all the time and help me to want to keep writing, as well.
