Grieving my childhood.
My personal identity has been forged by stories of my dad's childhood . Growing up in a five-child household with a father that was always working and a mother that hated little kids, my dad’s family life was defined by freedom and chaos. He often escaped his home seeking things to explore, and as a result, he was able to define himself. These values seeped into his parenting style. If I wanted to run off and explore, he would let me. I believe it gave him nostalgia towards those fond memories of his past. If I wanted a sip of wine, he would let me. If I wanted to try a puff at a cigar, he would let me. It was a system of controlled freedom.
In my own childhood, my coming of age was defined by this kinship love for independence. Consequently, I never felt constricted by a select identity or path to follow. My gender, sexuality, and religion (or lack thereof), were things that I came upon on my own. I never felt pressured by societal stereotypes of what a boy should do vs a girl, etc. In fact, I grew up accustomed to wearing dresses and makeup as I was often used as my sister’s personal mannequin. However, as I grew slightly older and became more aware of the world, I slammed into a brick wall. I reached an end to my dad’s jurisdiction. It was my age, that despised number, that held back who I wanted to become.
When I was four or five, I would run off constantly (despite my crippling separation anxiety and homesickness). I have explored the back sections of the freezer aisles, I’ve wandered into the employee’s section at Costco, I climbed on top of stranger’s cars, and I’ve caused a target to go on ‘lockdown’ due to a feared kidnapping - only for some employee to find me camping out behind some paper towels. The teary-eyed memories of asking strangers to call my mom are innumerable. But then the leash came - well, more like ‘the long keychain’ - that my mom attached to my favorite backpack. I would fight, practically bursting blood vessels, pulling all of what I had just to see what lay around the corner, just a second sooner, begging to be cut loose.
This desire for freedom without restraints left me to interpret my age a little differently. In my eyes, there were only six significant birthdays, each of which let my leash run a tad longer. These birthdays were the 12th, 16th, 18th, 21st, 25th, and 65th. They were significant as they directly contributed to my personal freedoms and level of independence. My 12th birthday meant that I could not longer keep my shoes on in the TSA line, my 16th birthday meant I could drive a car/ fly a plane, my 18th birthday would mean I could live on my own and manage my own documentation, my 21st would allow me to drink legally, and my 65th would legally consider me an elder, thus making myself available for certain benefits. Though the leash wasn’t just let go in one direction, and at times it continued to be pulled taught.
Although not explicitly stated, social laws, or expectations, have just as much of an effect as legal ones. This is all determined by what is ‘socially acceptable’ in the eyes of the public. This varies from culture to culture, but certain actions are consistent throughout all. Such include an expectation to act more mature as an adult - not crying, throwing a tantrum, etc (although many of us still do these things in a masked fashion). When I was little, I had a habit of climbing under the dinner table and poking people's feet. Though odd and annoying, it was ‘acceptable’ as I was just a toddler, whereas now I would get a much more judgmental and irritated reaction. As we grow older, we lose our social freedoms through conformity, while we gain legal ones.
This thought, that is regarding the social-legal exchange, is one that has troubled me. It has bothered me in times when I didn’t feel my age. It has prevented me from exercising the curiosity that I had as a child when I felt as if it was socially acceptable to run off and explore whatever my eyes fixated upon. However, we are now juxtaposed between legal and social freedoms. We are getting pulled in two simultaneous directions, my life being tossed like a buoy in the tides.
I’m talking about undertaking the curiosities of a child. I’m talking about the dreams and desires of exploring the Amazon rainforest, seeing what goes on behind the freezer aisles, being a princess, or flying fighter jets at the speed of sound. These are the dreams that we all had as kids, which for me, still remain deep down inside: raised by the law, shattered by the rules of conformity and expectation. Yet, I still remain navigated by the dreams and desires of a six-year-old kid that still lives inside.