My mother wrote a blog post recently about my grandmother's difficult childhood. At the end, she said she never wanted to hear us complain about our upbringing.
In light of that, I would just like to take a moment to...
complain.
Mom's right. I lived a pretty easy childhood. The problem? When I lunch with friends or chat with folks, stories of horrible childhoods arise...
and I have to sit and listen.
I can't one up anyone. No skeevy uncles, no cold parents, no abuse. Really. No good stories at all. It's like my childhood was a total waste.
Plus, I've got a rotten personality. Overly harsh, cold, uncaring... at least that's what people tell me... and I've got NOTHING to blame it on. I find myself grasping at straws, looking for any help, any help at all, for something or someone to blame my bad behavior on. I've found that shouting, "My mother wouldn't let me have Lucky Charms or watch the Smurfs!!" only gets strange looks - absolutely no support.
I was hoping my own child wouldn't suffer the same fate - loving family, attentive parents, security - but when I catch myself hugging him saying "I love you, I love you, I love you", I realize that unfortunately... he will.
Sigh. So much for good stories.
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