I don’t remember how old my parents were when they got married. One day, I should definitely figure that out. What I do know is that when they got married they lived in what they called “a 100-year-old house that was divided up into separate apartments”. Their bedroom was so small that they shared a twin bed and still had sit on one side of the bed just to access the closet. This also meant that when I eventually came along there was zero room for a crib or bassinet.
Just call me “drawer dweller” from here on out, because this dude slept in a dresser drawer for the first several months of his life. My parents sure as hell weren’t going to do co-sleeping when they had no room themselves. You do not co-sleep in a twin bed. Maybe that’s my sleeping situation as a baby is why I have such a great love of dressers as an adult. Okay, I made that up, but you never know, people are into some weird stuff.
My parents finally saved up and bought a house so that they could move out of the twin bed and I would have my own room, and a yard in which to play as I grew up.
I remember seeing pictures of the the foundation for our new house being poured and the house in various states of completion. My dad was standing in, what would eventually be the basement, in his Levi jacket, Levis, cowboy hat and cowboy boots. When my parents bought their first house out in the suburbs, it was one of those brand new subdivisions where there’s only one house—the show house—and then dirt as far as the eye can see. This picture of my dad looked more like he was in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, than a brand new subdivision. It didn’t stay that way for long. BAM! The neighborhood was made up of the same five house sporadically placed throughout, like they just dropped them in place.
The good thing about new subdivisions in the burbs? It is mostly young families who move into such areas, so most kids in the hood were usually all within a few years age of one another. There were kids next to us, kids across the street, kids behind us and even more of those little shits down the street. Kids galore! And what could possibly make for a better childhood than lots of potential friends? I can’t think of much … but unfortunately, for all the shared interests and everything we had in common, we had one little difference—that never bothered me—but, apparently, it wasn’t such a little difference to others. I didn’t spend a couple ours every Sunday at the same place they did, and this had a huge impact on how much time I got to spend with them the other 166 hours of the week. Don’t cry for me, the good news is that it wasn’t the kids’ fault, it was what they were taught. They were just following instructions.