Should say “moving too far”, not “going.” In Spanish it’s the same verb, but in English the meaning is completely different!
I stated things exactly right.
As I said, I was very disappointed that my father didn’t have the sense to use his position at the head of the table to engage all of us in friendly discourse of the world at large.
I take it that you don’t think that a two or three year old can have such thoughts, or that one can remember having such thoughts at such an age and so long ago?
Well, I did and do, indeed.
I also remember after this disappointment being unhappy about not being able to fly like Superman when I jumped off some porch steps. But, however, I did get a good feeling when around this time period that I was able to leave the potty stool and use the adult toilet. One of my greatest achievements, now that I think about it. 
Thanks for sharing, Nava!
It does kinda come through in your post that you had a pretty good upbringing; like there was love in your home.
I’m confused. I would have guessed that she moved your room because you’d, you know, grown up and left and didn’t need it anymore, and it could be made better use of. 
My room at my mother’s house is a home office now. My room didn’t get “moved” it got converted. Any stuff I still had at my mom’s house is in the storage room.
I’m confused by the idea that parents should maintain an actual bedroom for their kids after they’ve grown… is that normal?
I spent my entire childhood living with a time bomb. My father had a notoriously bad temper. You never knew what insignificant thing would tick him off, then it would be nothing but yelling, cursing, throwing things and slamming doors for the entire rest of the day.
So dinner time was just sitting there eating, while he complained about his coworkers, my mother’s relatives, my table manners, the neighbors, my brother’s table manners, the food, etc. etc. etc.
All I ever wanted to do was escape.
Until I was about 11 the vibe was a very tense one. My dad had a lot of anger.
Then, in 1984 he died. When they managed to revive him, he was a totally different person and things relaxed ALOT. When asked about his “near death” experience he always says he never saw light or a tunnel or angels or anything like that. However, he woke up with a completely different personality.
Let’s see. We’d get home from school about 3:00 and work on homework, me in the kitchen while Mom prepared dinner. We’d eat around 6:00 when my father got home, and we had to be wearing slippers to the dinner table or we couldn’t eat.* Pop hated his job and came home quiet and pissed. We’d eat in silence except for Mom telling us how much we had to eat of items we didn’t like (e.g., four Brussels sprouts). We were allowed one glass of milk only. By the time we were teenagers we ate in about five minutes and left the table.
When Pop wasn’t home we had a much more fun time. Mom, my brother and I would laugh and goof around.
Oh, and we came back down later to have dessert on our own, which was ice cream. We never had anyone over to eat with us.
*Could be worse. If my Grandpa discovered my father without a handkerchief when he was little, Pop had to pay a nickel.
The general vibe in my house was basically lonely, somewhat angry. I was the only child, and we lived out in the sticks, so our family was pretty isolated. My parents didn’t really care for one another and took it out on the kid. Plus parents were allowed to be angry or have negative emotions, but any response from me was “backtalk.” When I got home from school I could have whatever snack mom had for me (usually some fruit or toast or something healthy), but it was absolutely forbidden to take any food without asking. Usually with asking, too.
Dinners I ate in the kitchen by myself, usually with a book. The folks ate in the living room, watching two separate TVs because they couldn’t agree on what to watch (mom used headphones to hear hers). Not surprisingly, I completely failed to learn any decent table manners this way. And you ate everything that was served to you with no complaining. Period. Sadly mom was an entirely unenthusiastic cook.
What I remember thinking was really unfair, though, was that dad got a huge bowl of ice cream after dinner every night and I got none (it was “too expensive” to give me any). I had a vague idea that as a family we should all be in it together, we all get treats or no one does, but kids are only kids and an adult’s word is law.
It’s not actually as depressing as it sounds. I was basically ignored and so got to spend a lot of time by myself, which I enjoyed greatly. I got as much imagination time as any kid could ever hope for, and I had a huge wood to play in. So in some ways it was a really idyllic time. But in a lot of ways it was just lonely.
We were free to discuss anything and everything and we did. To this day I sometimes forget while having dinner with friends or relative strangers that some people are bothered by references to the Manson murders (“I’ve read conflicting reports over whether or not the baby was actually cut out of her stomach… pass the jelly please… which one seems most logical?”) or the Holocaust or a rotting dead cow that was in the pasture that “we really need to get rid of- get the chainsaw gassed up and we’ll go down there after dinner”. It just didn’t bother us (with one exception: I can’t stand any talk of bowel movements or similar bodily functions at the dinner table).
Also, very respectful in a way- adults, our parents particularly, were ma’am and sir, but that said you could argue with them. An actual memory is of me laying into my father because we’d gotten into a huge argument (my father LOVED and LIVED for arguments- he’d switch sides if he had to, a troll when troll still meant ‘mythical monster’) and I yelled “That is the stupidest goddamned thing you’ve said since the last goddamned time you said it, old man!” and my mother, who was on my side (no surprise), snapped her fingers and said “What have I told you about talking to him like that?!” I thought about it and said “That is the stupidest goddamned thing you’ve said since the last goddamned time you said it, sir!” and she and he both said, and they were serious, “That’s better”. (Then my sister banned using god as a swear word, then I stopped cursing altogether for many years, then it was just me and my mother and a 90something aunt so debate kind of died altogether:
Me: I think abortion should be not only legal but that everybody should be required to abort one child for every two they have.)
Great Aunt: Sho nuff. I like this jelly on my biscuits.
Mama: God I wish I was dead.
Me: And I think that they should use the aborted fetuses to make necklaces.
Great Aunt: I never thought of such as that. Makes a world of sense. Reckon where did that dog we used to have with the tore up ear ever get off to.
Mama: If there’s a God I curse him and dare him to kill me.
Me: Okay. Guess it’s resolved then. [sigh of nostalgia for “good ol’ days”]
When the whole family was still in residence though the discussions would usually continue after dinner, sometimes taking a hiatus if the show on TV was any good but commercials would get animated. When I read later that the average family only talked to each other about an hour per week, I thought “There’s no way that’s right”, because through my teen years there was rarely a night we didn’t spend at least a couple of hours talking. We weren’t the Waltons by a considerable margin- there was often screaming and once in a blue moon blows exchanged between people of like age- but we all actually preferred talking to just about any other form of entertainment and as annoyed as we can become with each other in many ways we still do; I went to my niece’s high school graduation last week and it was the first time the whole family (what’s left of it) has been around the same dinner table in quite a while and we talked and argued for hours. Just like old times (just without the terror that one of us would piss off Mama).
The only time we ever sat around the dinner table was at Thanksgiving and Christmas. After my sister married, her husband would join us. My brother was in the Navy, so if he was on leave, he’d be there, too.
Reasonably fun evenings. I remember Dad teaching me to carve the turkey when I was about 11 or so. That was an interesting meal!