Was My Childhood Happy?

Do we have happy childhoods?  This is something that’s come up multiple times recently that I suppose surprised me.  “Of course my childhood was happy”. was my initial reaction to the question. But upon further discussion, I’ve re-evaluated my stance on the default, obligatory response.  To jump to the end, as I know my parents read this blog, I do firmly believe I had a happy childhood.  I also know that’s not everyone’s experience.

The first time this came up was in conversations with my children’s music therapist.   She commented how people remember their childhoods as a happy time, but was it really happy, or was it more carefree?  She remembers times of sadness and angst.  Children don’t always get what they want (frequently).   Teasing and even bullying is common among children and disappointment is frequent.  She contends adults think of their childhood years as lost good times as opposed to a collection of tumultuous emotions they really are.

Did I have every toy I ever wanted?  No, my parents were teachers and while I was never lacking for any need I had, I wasn’t lavished with toys, games and extravagant vacations.  Was I teased?  Certainly—I was never in, “the popular crowd” and while I was okay with the person I was, there still is the need to be accepted by your peers and the hurt feelings when you find out you’re abnormal in the eyes of your classmates simply because you didn’t conform to their notion of normal.  Was I bullied?  I wasn’t.   I never was the victim of a sustained attack from multiple people, something for which I am grateful.

I was one of the nerdy, weird people in school and even though I was on the cheerleading squad, it was because of skill, not popularity.   I wasn’t seen as “cool” by my fellow cheerleaders, but I wasn’t an outcast either.   In college I was comfortable enough with who I was to not be bothered as much by what people thought of me.   I had found my way and a group of friends that matched my interests.

I recently had a conversation with one of my friends and discovered she had a much more difficult childhood than I did.   Upon hearing what happened to her in high school and college my response was one of outrage and an exclamation of, “you were being bullied, that’s terrible!”  Did she have a happy childhood?  I don’t know, I didn’t have a chance to ask, but it seems her time as a youth and adolescent was much more difficult for her and contains more sad memories than happy memories.

I know there is cruelty in the world, children display it all the time.  Young children tell people right to their face exactly what they think about them.   At first they do it out of truthfulness as in, “I don’t want to play with you because you’re no fun.”    When they’re older they do it to feel powerful or because they don’t feel good about themselves, “you’re stupid, you’ll never go to college.”   When we get older, we learn to keep our thoughts to ourselves and more often than not just talk about people behind their backs.   But as a child—nerve ends all over—it always hurts when someone is verbally or physically mean to you.

I hope our children will happy childhoods and as they mature we raise them to respect others so they don’t impact other’s happiness

The Big Boy Update:  My son came upstairs today with a small, red plastic box that was his father’s when he was a boy.   He said he wanted to show me a magic trick.   See, he said, there is no coin in the box.   Then he shut the box he’d been jostling around, clearly giving away the secret compartment, opened it and showed me the now present coin.   He showed his sister, who was duly amazed, even though I don’t think she saw it.   I reminded my son Gramps was a magician and if he wanted to learn more magic tricks, he should ask him the next time Gramps was in town.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:   While we were on the playground today my daughter asked me, “Mom, what was your first word?”  I told her I didn’t know, but I could call Mimi and ask.   I got my mother on the phone and found out, “dada” was the first word I said.   My daughter told me that wasn’t a word.   I explained it meant “daddy” but she still insisted that it wasn’t a valid word.   I asked Mimi if she knew the second word I said because apparently my first word didn’t count’