What vibe was in your house when growing up?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
42

Aside from holidays, the closest we got to eating together was when sometimes we’d get pizza and my mom would let me eat on the foot of her bed while we watched TV. Mostly I ate by myself at the kitchen counter while my mom ate in her room.

The general atmosphere in our house was fear. My gut reaction when I heard my mom’s car pull into the carport was HIDE. Usually I’d dive behind my bed or hide under the piano until she’d come in and gone into her room, where she’d stay for the rest of the evening, except when she came out to get food.

43

Three kids, two parents, and all meals were around the table away from the TV. We discussed all kinds of things (though my folks did their daily catch-up at this time as well). Sometimes it devolved into bickering amongst the kids, but it was usually nipped in the bud. If we were lucky, we’d get a good game of “LOOK” going. You know…when you chew up the ugliest mess of food and then force your brother or sister to look at it when you open your mouth. Yeah, we could be cretins.

We didn’t have to eat everything on our plate, but if we didn’t, no dessert. We had to ask for snacks when we were younger, and were usually refused them if it was too close to dinner.

44

The meal itself was something to make a hotdog eating contest look like a slo-mo of a turtle race. We ate FAST and quietly. You peep, you starve. Then we stayed for a good hour just sitting there talking about anything and everything, as long as it was light and not too personal. We discussed those more privately. As we aged, politics started entering the table conversations but nothing too involved either.

As for eating between meals, it would depend. There were certain safe to snack items around. If you needed something with more substance, you just rustled plastic wrappers and opened the fridge 20 times until mom came and asked if you wanted something. Eating cold cuts straight from the packet was ok, making a sandwich was not. Go figure.

My dad wasn’t often around for most meals on weekdays. He arrived from work after our regular dinner time. Most of the time, I would join him in the kitchen just so that he wouldn’t eat alone. It was also a good time to bring up that new Atari game I wanted. I was so good at it that I often found myself asking for stuff for my brothers.

45

Mealtimes when I was a kid? Ah, the sheer terror of it.

My younger brother “breathed funny”, which we later found out was due to health problems actually related to breathing, but during dinner would gasp and struggle to breath and eat. He always got yelled at. “Come up for air!” The worse it got, the more stressed my brother got, frequently dropping his fork on the floor, knocking over a glass of milk, etc. Dinner always ended with my brother in tears.

My father would frequently fly into rages over…well, just about anything. The way the food was cooked (or wasn’t), what we were having (or weren’t), the weather, the sun, the job, take your pick. I recall one time he threw a plate of something (ketchup is the only thing I distictly recall) across the room, where it hit the wall behind the fridge and the plate, food, etc. slid behind the fridge. We all walked on eggshells, never knowing what would set him off.

Dinner when I was a kid was so bad that for YEARS neither my brother nor I could eat at the table, even when we had kids of our own. It wasn’t until Hallboy was born (about 13 years ago), that I was finally able to set down at a table and eat dinner with my family. (We frequently ate in the living room.) Dinners now are very different–kids talking, everyone eating, no stress.

My brother, though, never eats dinner at the table, and he’ll be turning 38 in August…

46

Discussions were fine but we were usually too busy eating.

A little of both. A small snack after school was okay but we were discouraged from eating anything other than dinner from, say, 5 'til bedtime.

47

Before I turned 14, the vibe was pretty decent. It was very much of the idea that children should be seen and not heard and that I should be quiet, respectful, and 100% obedient, but not horrible.

After I turned 14 and learned of my adoption it turned into the vibe that the kid was merely the duty, that everything I said should be picked on and examined to see if I loved my biological mother more, that the adoption - and by consequence, I - was a dirty little secret that should never be told to anyone. It wasn’t a happy vibe. Every little disobedience from me was considered further proof that I was her daughter, and blood will out, and was cause for a huge drawn-out fight. And I mean right down to styling my hair differently than my mother wanted.

Home became a tense, unhappy place, and my parents became emotional pyschos. There were times where they would react calmly to some piece of news and then later in the same evening would bring it up again, roaring and furious. I swear to God I never knew what was coming.

Mealtimes were situations where I was expected to sit and talk about what they wanted to talk about. And I was constantly told “Tell the truth and it’ll be OK” - only to tell the truth and be punished, even if it wasn’t my fault.

As for getting a sammich? Hell no. I could have a salad, if I wanted. Or some organic milk. Or a banana. Nothing fattening. But that comes of having a nurse as an adoptive mother as much as anything else.

48

Missed the edit window.

My parents also grew up during the Depression. Dad spent much of his childhood in an orphanage because his dad was often sick and his mother really didn’t want anything to do with her kids. Mom was raised by an aunt because her mother was an inmate of Northern Colony and Training School, a Wisconsin facility for the mentally deficient; this aunt was pretty strict and wouldn’t let Mom in the kitchen so she never really learned how to cook. This instilled a desire for them to give their kids as much of a “normal” family as possible.

49

Life was good, generally. Up untill my tween years we had sit down dinners every night… my mother stayed home so she cooked. There was little to no unpleasantness directed at the table. We snacked freely, most times… with few issues over that but I do think we usually asked before we indulged. Sometimes we would eat in the living room and watch TV, if there was something special on… I remember Shaka Zulu the miniseries being a Living Room dinner event, as was Lonesome Dove. I had great parents, really. The only point of real tension was between my dad and my sister. My sister was a picky eater… very picky, and it really bothered my dad who had been raised in a ‘clean your plate’ household. There were epic battles of will between the two of them and my dad usually lost. Nothing nasty, just this one time I remember them sitting there nearly all night because he wouldn’t excuse her… but she didn’t eat. He saved her plate, brought it out the next night… still wouldn’t eat. My poor poor dad. ;> I don’t know how my sister avoided malnutrition during her childhood. :confused:

50

Eh, the main source of tension in my family was foods my brother or I couldn’t/wouldn’t eat. The atmosphere of the meals themselves was usually pretty cool. Conversations, whatever. But you couldn’t leave the table until you’d either cleaned your plate or (like me) sat there so long mom got mad and let you leave the table just so she could finish cleaning up.

Snacking…I don’t really remember too much snacking as a child. Mostly things like popsicles, but not near dinner-time As older kids/teens, we ate pretty much whatever we wanted, except my brother was diabetic, so couldn’t eat too many sweets.

51

Stay-at-home mom, home-cooked meals. Lots of food, because you never knew if someone would be invited to stay. 5 kids, lots of conversation. By the time I was born, they stopped having the “you’ll eat what I cooked” fights with the kids and if we didn’t like what was being served, we could make ourselves a sandwich or a bowl of cereal. We could take anything from the cupboard or fridge we wanted, although the Coke was just for Mother, and if we were sick we’d get a little jelly glass filled with Coke. If we wanted cookies we’d feel free to bake them.

After dinner my parents would sit at the table and play cards or dominoes and drink coffee while we kids did the dishes. Then we’d go watch TV as a family (only one set), or read or play games.

StG

52

When I was young, we rarely ever ate with each other unless we were forced to. My older sister was a terror and my mom and I were petrified that she might fly off the handle at any moment and either scream at us or slap us senseless. I was more likely to get hit than my mom, who my sister only hit once, but she could be even more vicious with words than with blows.

My parents were divorced, so whenever my dad visited, it was always a treat for me and my sister. But you could cut the tension between my mom and dad with a knife. It was all directed from mom to dad, though. My dad left mom when I was about 2 to marry his secretary. Mom is still bitter about it to this day and wastes no opportunity to denigrate him to us even after 30 years.

We were allowed snacks whenever, but I avoided the rest of my family as much as possible, so I tried not to eat them.

However, now that we’re older, we always eat together whenever we happen to be in the same place. Family is a strange beast.

Now I have a 13-month old of my own. My husband, son and I often eat together at the table - no TV - and really enjoy it. When we don’t all eat together, it’s because our son had to go to sleep early because he woke too early or is just plain tired. On those nights we often eat on the couch in front of the TV, a habit I’m trying to break us of. Now that we have a little one, we don’t have nearly as much time to talk as we used to. I’d like to capitalize on the time we do have because we always have great conversations.

Snacks are allowed whenever. None of us is particularly fat (thought I could stand to lose a few) and we rarely eat if we’re not hungry. This is especially true for my son, who is the most self regulating of us all.

53

I have a sister like that; she still avoids veggies to this day.

By the time I came along, our parents had changed from “clean your plate” to “take X bites from everything on your plate”, X being your age.

54

I didn’t clarify in my post, but I was an only child raised by a single mom. We never had sit-down dinners and she never cooked. I usually fixed myself breakfast cereal (when I was very young) or canned soup or frozen dinners (when I was older). I usually read a book while I ate dinner by myself.

55

Our house had a pretty wonderful vibe when I was younger. I didn’t really appreciate it at the time, but with age and experience, I’ve come to realize that while not unique, was definitely out of the ordinary.

Mom was a stay-at-home mom until I was in middle school, then she went back to teaching. Dad was a cost analyst for an insurance company and later, a budgeting guy for the City of Houston, with a three year unemployed stint in the middle.

They sort of combined the best open, liberal aspects of the liberal hippie culture with the best of the more traditional, duty-oriented culture of the country. As in, my parents weren’t unreasonably or arbitrarily strict when compared to other parents. They always made sure I knew WHY things were restricted, or why I wasn’t allowed to do things. They were also very big on personal responsibility and consequences. As an effect of that, they weren’t concerned about my hair or dress; I’d be the one who would suffer any consequences for that, including their favorite comment that they’d keep pictures of me to show my children and wife-to-be.

Probably the most odd thing was that conflict was encouraged, not stifled. By that, I mean that we weren’t told what to do and not to do- there was a lot of latitude for negotiation in almost all parent-child relationships, and we almost always reached compromises on things like punishment, curfews, debts, etc… And if we were upset about something, then it was encouraged that we voice this dissatisfaction and work it out with whoever in the family was causing it. (and they were expected to come to the table as well)

I remember thinking that they were all up in my shit way too much when I was in high school, but then again, I was hanging around with some people that I can see why they might have been worried.

All in all, the vibe was one of mutual respect, and love, even when we didn’t all agree on things. It makes for a very good relationship now that I’m in my thirties; I was a little surprised a while back when my Dad asked me for advice on something, but awfully flattered at the same time.

56

Mealtimes growing up included great food (my mom is a good cook!) but the tension was so high most of the time it was difficult to enjoy it. Our household revolved around what kind of day my dad had and how many beers he’d had before supper time which determined his mood. And his mood set the mood for the entire household - rarely a good one. We never had many snack foods, so that wasn’t an option when I was growing up, but I think it was different for my brothers - especially when they were growing and going through the hollow legged phase.

I made a conscience decision to change that when I had my own family. My cooking may not be as good as my mom’s, but we talk about anything and everything (except how many times the smoke alarm went off while I was preparing the meal <g>). With my oldest daughter DH and I made the mistake of trying to enforce the “try at least one bite” rule, which created the dreaded tension. By the time the youngest two came along we’d learned our lesson and dropped any requirements all together and focused on the time we were spending together. Much, much nicer experience!

As for snacks and stuff, we’ve always believed in grazing as needed. The only time I’ve discouraged snacks is within an hour or so of supper. One thing I did have to reinforce a few times was that a snack was a snack, not a meal.

57

At my house the prevailing attitude was that kids should be seen and not heard. Dinner was one of the few times my sister and I were encouraged to speak freely… about school, history, nature, show tunes, or whatever. My parents liked having us talk at the table and build our vocabularies and stuff. Yes, way geeky but pretty fun even so. As far as living a relatively separarate life from the adults for the most part… It wasn’t as bad as you might think. We had our own playroom and stuff and a nice lady to watch us and were perfectly happy to inhabit that world.

As a side note, our parents had lots of parties while we were growing up. Most times we were allowed to come downstairs and help serve snacks and read poetry that we’d written or play the piano for the guests, which again might sound odd but was actually pretty fun. If people came over during the holidays they often brought their kids and then all of us would hang out in the playroom and then be herded up to bed and naturally all sit on the stairs and spy on the adults and it was good fun. So not so bad, except for the infamous CANTALOUPE DESSERT!!! The ultimate separation between adult and child. Grrr. Someday I’ll tell that story.

58

Huh? That was your thought at age 2 or 3? :dubious: I’m trying to parse this thinking perhaps you meant 2 or 3 in the afternoon one day. :smiley:

59

The general vibe in my house was one of fear and wrath- abusive dad, emotionally absent mom. As for mealtimes, from the time I was 10 my mom worked 2nd shift, and I cooked dinner for me, my two brothers, and my dad. My dad would eat in the living room watching TV, while my brothers and I would sit at the kitchen table, where a small amount of laughter and talking was permitted among us. Considering the rest of the time in the house, dinnertime was pretty good.

60

Both my parents were loving and supporting people. Dad was a tease and that got old growing up. Sometimes he made me nuts with his teasing, but I knew he meant no harm - it was just annoying. Both told me that they were proud of me many times in my life. Both would let me try to do whatever I wished. I remember a lot of great times though. Dad taught me to shoot pool and play ping pong.

Mom always cooked favorite things - especially at the holidays.

We were poor growing up - sometimes really poor, sometimes lower-middle class. Mom and Dad taught me a work-ethic that has allowed me to become rather successful in life.

I can think of a lot of things to complain about if I try - but what I remember most was that they loved me. (Only Dad has passed, and so apply present tense of verbs to Mom.)

61

There’s a scene from when I was 15 which represents for me much of my childhood/youth, and another from when I was 18. The sentence “lower the volume” has become sort of a keyword between Mom and myself (we have a complicated relationship). Some day I’ll be able to remind her of the second scene. My brothers’ will sometimes ask me about the ironing when Mom’s been… a particularly heavy cross :stuck_out_tongue:

I was in my bedroom, lying on the bed, reading or doing homework, with the door closed as usual (I’d started closing my door when I started listening to music). The radio was on; the song was one which Dad insisted “promoted drugs” - I always interpreted it as sort of doing the opposite. Most of the “décor” stuff in my room wasn’t mine: I had a couple posters on the wall, the books on the closet’s shelf and on top of the closet were mostly mine, the bric-a-brac on the closet was mine. The bookshelves were mostly “not mine” books (doesn’t mean I didn’t read them). I loved the room: it’s quite large, with a balcony and a great view. I loved watching the sun rise from my bed.

As I say, I was on the bed, reading whatever, when Dad came in to put a book back in place and get another one. He traded books and growled “why do you have that damn music so loud? Lower it!”
“Lower it? Please, do lower it.”
“Young lady, don’t give me any cheek! I’m —” “My father, yes. There is a reason I’m asking you. I’m not giving you cheek, I’m asking you to please, lower the volume.”
He stared. “You’re closer to it anyway. Please lower it.”
He bent down, turned the knob… and said “uh? It was as low as it goes!”
“Good, I see I’m not the only one who couldn’t get that volume any lower.” And I went back to my reading.

He just left the room and never mentioned it again.

It was one of the very few times I confronted my parents in any way.

The other one:
I’d been away at college for 3 months, it was my first trip back home. One of my reasons to choose that major (and therefore that college) is that it was 400km away and I wouldn’t have to go back every weekend; I would also not run any risk of being invaded by Mom any day she felt like it and any weekend I stayed away to study or whatever (as it would have happened for sure if I’d chosen a similar major and been only 100km away).

I get home, open the door, say “hi Mom;” she replies “oh, there you are, what time was the train coming in anyway, you’re late. The ironing’s in your room.” Gee thanks Mom, in case you didn’t hear about it in your 40+ years of living in this country, that’s your whole life, Renfe is nototious for lateness. I truly appreciate your reminder of who has been doing most of the heavy lifting around here since I was barely high enough to do it, by the way.
So I head to my room

and it’s not there any more! Instead of my closet (ok, old and falling apart, but mine) and my bed and my table and my chairs (uncomfortable as all get-go but mine), now that room had the lunchroom table and its chairs!

“MOM! Where’s my room?”

“Oh, I moved you. You’re in the old lunchroom now.”

“But my room!”

“What? Look, you’ve got a great closet now, isn’t it great? C’mon, stop staring, you have to set the table. Go, go!”

I do hate that closet, by the way. It’s all curvy, so it takes a lot more space than what fits inside; the top is curvy as well, so unlike my old closet and any closet I’ve ever chosen myself, you can’t put things on top. And that dark room is the smallest bedroom in the house. The view is of a balcony with clotheslines, gee.

It’s been 21 years and I still want MY BEDROOM BACK, damnit!

Lilbro once asked “why did Mom move you to that room, anyway? It’s… tiny,” and Middlebro said “for going too far, that’s why.” So I’m evidently not the only one with that take on it :stuck_out_tongue:

Oh, since it’s from the same day, bonus scene. I asked Mom what was for lunch; she said “penne in tomato sauce and steaks, you’re frying the steaks.” “Oh, OK, so I do the pasta, right?” “Of course not, I’ll do it!” Of course not? Oooook… but for the last 10 years, I’d cooked any pasta or rice in that house.
So, I set the table, my brothers arrive from school (long midday break, most students eat at home), we sit down to eat and they fall onto the pasta like… like only a starved 12yo and a starving 10yo can. You would have thought they hadn’t eaten anything in a month.
The look in their faces changed instantly as soon as the pasta was in. Middlebro looked at me, looked at Mom and swallowed. Lilbro, the apple of Mom’s eyes, spit the food back (something which would have earned either of the eldest a “go to your room now!”) and accused “why didn’t Nava cook? She does the pasta!”

And, unlike Mom, does it al dente. Mom took it against me, it took a lot to get her to admit somewhat that, since my brothers’ had grown up with MY pasta, that’s what they were used to. And damnit, if you haven’t cooked pasta, tomato sauce or rice in 10 years, it’s logical that you’ll be rusty. “Well, it was I who taught *you!” * Well, yeah, but what they know is that we cook sort of different, you know?

There were never beatings; my parents never showed any disagreement between themselves, much less fought (until I was 23, I sincerely believed they were one-minded). But it wasn’t exactly a warm place in which to extend your wings. Too much danger of hitting a wall.