Monday, November 02, 2009

The Demands Of A Healthy Childhood
~or~
Home Is Where Some Old Farts Is

Apart from an unfortunate side trip to my place of conception and the fact that I grew up in a tenement across the street from a crack house in a neighborhood that was brought to popularity by Snoop Dogg and Samuel Jackson's violent killing gangster in Pulp Fiction, my childhood was pretty decent.

My family is only mildly annoying, but full of care and genuine love. It almost seems to me that this makes them the odd family. I've heard about people getting abused by neighbors, physically, sexually, mentally, I know people who have come through traumatizing experiences and become exemplary adults despite all of that.

The great American dramas all involve kids getting screwed over, and I can only view them from afar as horror movies and never as something I can start to relate to.

Hell, I recently saw the Dakota Fanning rape movie which was horrible (2 stars on Netflix from me), and the rape wasn't even worth the price of admission.

There is a price to pay for a childhood of sweetness, and it is paid in guilt and motherly tears, and also airfare every year to fly myself back to Los Angeles for a Christmas visit (though thankfully not to Inglewood, the apartment I grew up in is now a condemned lot).

I don't know many people who can claim a happy childhood, but maybe that's because people don't tend to reflect on it too much, we never stop to think, "well...I didn't get abused, I was protected, I was loved...holy shit...I had a happy childhood!"

Weird huh?
-Deviant

2 comments:

David said...

Well, I wasn't abused or have any traumatic experiences, but I can't say my childhood was ostensibly happy, but that was due more to the terrorizing I regularly received from my peers and less the treatment of my family. Although there were some bumpy relationships there as well.

Kevin said...

Waaah :-p