I had a wonderful childhood. There were occasional problems of course, and everyone’s family has a skeleton or two in the closet, but I was never hungry or poor or wanting for anything. My parents made sure to pay for my college education so that I could graduate debt free. I am now a hard working adult who has $0 in debt, I have amassed a good deal in savings, I have a fantastic apartment with a wonderful roommate and the cutest kitten in the world, and I have no doubt that my life would not be as good as it is now if it hadn’t been the way it was when I was growing up.
Up until high school my life was terrific. I was raised in a semi rural setting and ran the fields and woods w/ a couple of nearby neighbor kids. We didn’t have much money, but I never felt like we were poor. I was an excellent student, active in Boy Scouts and a generally good kid. I have very fond memories of my childhood.
When I was ten, my brother was born, then two years later my sister and finally two more years and another brother. Just before I entered high school, ninth grade, we moved to a new home in medium sized city. My parents had their hands full w/ the three smaller children and I had a great deal of trouble adjusting to city life. I guess I was seen, by my peers, as the country hick. It was a mixed bag. I did well in school for awhile, made the debate team, went out for football and was second team, joined the Civil Air Patrol. I ended up gravitating toward the other kids in need of attention. We went about getting it in all the wrong ways. By 15 I was a juvenile delinquent, having stolen cars, broken into places and committed vandalism. I’d had several part time jobs and I eventually quit school and took a full time job at 17. A few months later I joined the Navy and made a 23 year career of it.
Until I was ten or eleven years old, my life was simply idyllic. My parents divorced when I was five, but I really don’t recall any emotional trauma at all and in fact hardly remember my dad. I had Mom, and a brother close to my age to play with, and we lived in the same town with my grandparents. They had a Pekingese dog that I adored. They also had a big yard with several varieties of fruit trees, a greenhouse, a swingset, and a sandbox. We took swimming and tennis lessons, as well as frequent trips to the library and the park. There were kids our age in the neighborhood, and in those days we could hop on our bikes and go play for hours without anyone being worried. We had lots of toys and books. My grandfather set up part of his garage as a permanent art studio for me and provided me with a vast array of art supplies, not to mention a typewriter. We also went to a private school, and in general were sheltered from the ugliness of the world.
When I look back on it now, it’s very sad to think of the distance between the childhood I had and the one I’ve given to my kids. But, maybe, absent any great tragedies, happiness is just a kid’s default setting. I sure hope so.
Life was good for me as well.
Lived in a comfortable middle-class home in Chicago with both parents, stay-home mom, and 3 older sisters. Like the shit bug says, could ride my bike for hours and miles with no worries. When older, could get anywhere in the city via bus, el, and hitching. Glad I grew up in the city instead of the burbs - tho still many prejudices prevalent in the 60s. Got used to not having much spending $.
Dad worked hard but was gone alot. Parents could perhaps have instilled more compassion and motivation in me. And I wish they had convinced me to be more stylish in my dress/grooming. But overall - no complaints.
I think so. A kid’s primary relationship is with his or her parents – if that relationship is good most other things don’t matter as much.
My brother had a hellish elementary school career – he was (still is) ADHD with a vengeance and endured absolutely brutal bullying and ostrazation. One of the saddest memories of my childhood is watching him across the playground at recess, standing aside as his classmates played and, so obviously, wishing to be included. He was short, skinny & redheaded, his grades were miserable, he was in resource classes (charmingly called ‘dummy class’ by his troglydyde classmates) and he was chased home by bullies 3 days out of every week. But if you ask him today (he is almost 45) he will tell you he had a happy childhood. Why? Because he had a happy home, with the same loving parents I had. If a kid has a happy home, he’ll have a happy childhood.
One of the things I am most grateful for in this life is the fact that I had a wonderful childhood. Sure, it’s never sunshine and puppies every day, but my parents were fair and supportive, my brother only beat me up a little, and we never wanted for anything. I know Mom and Dad had their problems, but they never let them spill over onto us, and they’re still together. We always had enough money, and as I got older, we could even have been considered well-off.
Until I was 14, we lived in a very self-contained neighborhood with one entrance/exit onto a main road. It was a very family-oriented place, and the kids just ran wild in the streets. The summers would see nightly games of Manhunt with 40 or 50 participants, and there was always somebody to play with.
I was bullied and picked on a little at school, but not enough to make me hate my whole childhood for it. I’m thankful for the upbringing I had, and I make my mom cry every time I tell her, but I know a lot of people who didn’t have it nearly as good, and that only makes me appreciate it more.
I had a very good life growing up. My parents had (and still have) a very strong marriage. I have a brother and sister and, barring the usual kid fights, we all get along well. We were comfortably middle class and never lacked for any material things. I did well in school and had a circle of friends. There were no major traumas or dark secrets in my childhood.
Yeah, it was pretty good. We lived in an old suburban neighborhood so the school and other houses were close enough together that we could ride bikes around and go where we pleased (barring the occassional crazy old person with the well manicured lawn). We were kind of on the border of the developed areas so there were a lot of woods and whatnot to play in as well. One of my friends lived on some kind of farm and his dad had the coolest job to an 8 year old. He had some kind of business supplying stuff for construction companies so his barn was filled with all kinds of flashing highway signs and other assorted gear in addition to the usual random junk you find in a barn (including an old Model-T style car)
When we moved, the new neighborhood was a lot different. There were larger houses on larger plots of land so there was more woods and rocks and crap to play on. Problem was that there was also fewer kids around to play with too. And for some reason a lot of the kids in the neighborhood were fucked up. There was one kid who was kind of like the neighborhood Eric Cartman - fat, stupid and a dickhead. His older brother was kind of nuts and blew up a neighbors Christman display for some fucked up reason. The kids who lived behind me were nice enough but they were big time D&D/comic book nerds and tended to weird out people who didn’t know them. And one of my other friends older brother was also an asshole who was eventually sent to jail for a bit for breaking into our neighbors houses.
Holy mackerel. I know you aren’t me, but are you a sister?
We were excruciatingly poor. I don’t really remember that part. I was the youngest of six.
And then, in what seems like overnight, my parents were extremely wealthy.
My father was an alcoholic, but a great father, really. We took long, weird trips out west with stops at the world’s largest steam shovel and the like. My next youngest brother and I ran wild every summer. It was like something out of a movie, honestly.
I have been a very lucky person.
Very good. In fact, I have basically nothing really bad about my upbringing, and it sometimes makes me feel guilty. We lived in a safe neighbourhood, had a comfortable middle-class existence, four adorable cats, no family fights, etc. My mom did (and does) everything in her power to make our (me and my brothers) childhoods happy.
Very good. My parents were fairly well off, and I lived in an unspoiled resort area. Never had any serious issues to deal with.
Only if he’s not pessimistic. Good thing your brother isn’t.
“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
-- Leo Tolstoy, *Anna Karenina*Good point. My brother and I were both blessed with our dad’s unquenchable optimism. My sister is more like Mom – a bit darker, more of a worrier. It’s a good thing she didn’t have to go through what Troy did – she might not have come out so well.