A matter of perspective

Family, Uncategorized

Age twelve, I was terrible. Not yet a teenager but causing my parents more than their fair share of trouble. Their house, my home, became more a drop-in-centre for me and my newly acquired following of friends.

A place that felt small when I was too big for my boots.

My bedroom, a recent garage conversion, provided the perfect private space; a flight of narrow stairs separating us, from them. Pastel paint and ‘Forever Friends’ spoke of my all too recent childhood whilst shared secrets and first kisses were played out in front of an audience of tatty posters from the middle of magazines that screamed from the walls of an attempt to become someone new. Dim light cast doubting shadows.

Down the corridor, the kitchen had become a cold and deserted space. The spacious extension never stepped up to the mark. And the back door marked the boundary between all that was familiar and the world I wanted so desperately to explore. Never locked, it became the direct route to my first attempts at freedom.

Upstairs was different. An oversized TV provided a non-stop soundtrack to the 90s. Tatty pink sofas, that were yet to be replaced, saw my parents take time to stop and rest. When they were home, that’s where they could be found. A constant, my brother would be attempting to transform the scene into the backdrop to some of the greatest sporting victories the world would never see with each bounce of a ball. Upstairs was home.

And nestled at the top of the house were their bedrooms. And somewhere I would soon sacrifice the space and freedom of my downstairs for in favour of angular ceilings and a cramped child’s bed. Just to be near them. Just to feel close. Subconsciously trying so hard to remain a part of them whilst the rest of the world slowly succeeded in pulling me under and away.

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6 thoughts on “A matter of perspective

  1. I enjoyed your post. Still a child, when parents are giving you freedom you need to feel secure. Can tell from your writing, it brought out some emotions.

    1. Thank you. I really appreciate you taking time to read and comment. What I felt when writing it was a little unexpected and that probably explains why I am a little unsure about the post itself. X

  2. I also enjoyed the direction that this post took. I like how it started out about you desperately wanting freedom and independence but then segued to your desire to still be near your family. The push and pull of adolescence, like trying to decide the right time to give up your security blanket or favorite stuffed animal. When did you make the decision to move back upstairs?

    1. It is silly but I can’t even remember! I guess that might even be what I meant with the title; looking at the situation retrospectively allowed me to see my what my subconscious thoughts and feelings may have been at the time. When I began writing it was more about me explaining (and maybe even apologising) for how awful I was then but by the end I guess I saw something more. I’m glad you enjoyed it and really appreciate you taking time to share your thoughts with me. X

  3. That was such vivid writing and took me back to a place I had forgotten about – that place between being content with being a child and not quite an adult.
    I think this post will stay with me for a long while.

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