This is like any of my posts personal. It's a little of my story, of growing up. I am also writing after two JD and cokes, so will fight to keep my words on the straight and narrow even if my head has a tendency to wonder. Enjoy.
Next year I'll be hitting the half century mark. It's a little like hitting the 40 year mark and having a complete re-evaluation on life. This is something we should all do. I think of today's age and what is happening around me and cast back to memories of the late 60s and the 70s, on how life was, particularly how hard it was growing up. I have two sisters Silly Sophia and Mrs Talkative. I am the oldest. Sophia came after me by three or four years. I can't remember how old she is, but I do recall how I felt as a young boy it was an inconvenience having a baby sister. A baby who couldn't do much at all and how my mother's love was then diverted from me, as the first and only child now to Sophia. Maybe this is something they call part of sibling rivalry. My father, who was actually my step-father worked in a factory which was a bus ride away. Though I'm not sure if he took the bus or whether he walked. Strange how such a small detail and question comes to mind now. His factory was about a mile or so from our home so he could of easily walked, and so probably did. I remember how my parents used to get up early in the morning. Or it seemed early to me. Probably five or six a.m. Mum used to make Dad sandwiches so he could take to work. He was unskilled and illiterate, but he did provide a house for three children and a wife. Money was always tight. It must of been something to do with paying off a mortgage and high utility bills. Still on a Thursday night Dad would give us a few pennies and we'd immediately go and spend them on chocolate. Before we went to bed though all the electrical items had to be unplugged. To make sure they could not use any more power or cause a fire. There was no such thing as double glazing, if there was very few people had it at the time. Our house was on a main road and had a small front garden and what then seemed like a pretty big, or rather long back garden. As an adult now I can see it was just a back garden which through child eyes would of felt like a vast expanse.
The seasons effected the family significantly. Summer was great because I'd stay out as long as I could. My best friend while growing up lived on the end of our row of houses. His name was Stephen. We were what you'd call whipper snappers, we enjoyed each other's company and I think we must of been friends for at least five or six years. As we eventually left this house when I was between 9 and 10 years old. We would scrump (steal fruit) or forage for summer fruits. We'd build secret dens and I liked going over Stephen's house. He had a smaller brother. Who barely comes to my conscious mind now. I can't remember many specific things we did but I do know we had a great time and his Dad unlike my Dad (Step-Dad) was a member of the local working men's club. Where we would sometimes go and be treated to a soft drink. There would be bottle tops from beer near the club, I recall they smelled nice. When you're a kid you don't understand or know much about life, you're just cared for by parents and have happy or sad times. A lot of stuff easily falls away into the deepest darkest recesses of memory and to this extent is forgotten. But i do recall winters. How desperately cold they felt. How I woke up in the morning and found ice on the inside of my bedroom window. The condensation had tried to dribble down but had turned into knobbly rivulets. I knew nothing different and only now actually realise we were not just a working class family we were poor.
Mum used to fight with Dad over all kinds of stuff. Usually money orientated, she never had enough. Once I remember she wanted to open a tin of peaches for sweet and he didn't. She was violent towards him but he would never be towards her. He was a nervous man, he would please with her and beg with her but she never listened to reason. I hated it when they argued. I wished I had another family. I was scared and used to pray at the time that they would stop. As a kid you're powerless to adults and their ways, even if they are more emotionally immature than you. The prayers were never answered. Her temper, aggression and unreasonableness always won out.
I didn't like my sister much, I don't know if this is something which refers back to the notion of her taking my mother's love away from me at an early age, or whether it was because she would cry at anything and didn't do the same things I did. Boys are quite like that. I recall one incident when trying to get Sophia to cross the road. We had been over the road to gets some sweets. Conveniently, a paper come sweet shop was opposite our house. I took her hand, looked both ways for cars and judged it was clear enough to get to the other side. As I was used to crossing the road I knew when to cross. Sophia was afraid of the road, to tell the truth she's afraid of a lot of things. I hated her fear. I looked the road both ways, it was clear enough as far I could tell, I took her hand but she would not move. She shook her head and said "no". In reply I must of said it's OK and come on. Time seemed to stand as she refused. She would not cross, so I stepped into the road and pulled at her hand, yanking her. She stayed firmly still, I pulled harder to get her to cross. She must of put one foot on the road and then because of her resistance slipped and fell on her backside. I think she had a dress on. The time it had taken her to argue with me and not cross now made it unsafe to walk. She picked herself up. Crying. We got back home and I got told off, it was all my fault. It wasn't, and it still isn't today, it was her fault. She still is a scardy-cat. Nowadays through her life she has constantly suffered from depression, been on and off Prozac. Lives with an alcoholic partner and has exceptionally low self esteem. She does not understand she has control over her own life and no matter how much she is told she'd do better without a partner who raised his fists to her it doesn't go into her pea brain head. Talking to her can be so draining.
I went to state schools like everyone else I know did. My mother was not interested in supporting her children in their education. She was just raising kids, she did not and still does not understand the enormous responsibilities of education and parenting. She never encouraged any of her children to become better than the world would have them be. I have two sisters, and it was the same for the both of them. To tell the truth, my mother should never of had children, or she should of certainly of had better family support from her own sisters and brothers. There were 5 siblings in her family. We didn't just live in poverty, we lived in a family which had been downtrodden by the circumstance of finance. There would be times when my mum being fed up of staying at home would walk us all to see our gran and grandad. They lived about 6 miles away. These were long walks. Gran and grandad always gave us fare money to get the bus back. The one thing though with gran and grandad, was they loved us immensely, and showed it more than our own mum. Her parenting skill was to tell us to do something or to shout, and she shouted at every opportunity. Psychologically I believe shouting and children is damaging. We all grew up with various extremes of poor self-esteem.
I saw education as my way out, and through evening classes and many years ended up with two degrees in psychology. It was long and expensive. I had left secondary school with five failed O' levels, so had to start on the bottom of the ladder. I then decided to target the Civil Service and sort not to just get a job, but a secure job. I hated the way I was evaluated on my CV. There was little I could put on it but no employer could understand what it had taken to get where I was. I'm now in middle-management and in my mind more qualified and able than my own senior manager. Fortunately she is not a bully. She has her view of the world and I've learnt to adapt to it and meet her demands. I've learnt to be tough minded when it comes to problem solving. I know what my abilities are, I know given the right circumstances I'd of been a high flyer in a bank and of been a millionaire. But life is equally about opportunities and connections as it is about upbringing. I do my best to support and be there for Sophia's children. Who have put up with a lot in their own lives. They youngest, Monster Boy is now 11 years old and the biggest Trekkie fan I've every met. He is smart, very smart, but again he is living in an environment which is not the best in the world. But, at least he has an Uncle who tries to be the best Uncle he can.
Poverty changes everything in growing up and in personality. If you've been poor you know what it is like to be hungry. You know what it is like to be cold and to not have the possessions others take for granted. If you are also raised in an environment which doesn't support all your, psychological, educational and nutritional needs it will have an effect. However, and there is a however, you make your own choice if you want to pull your socks up and escape it. Then you make your own choice on how to see the world. Being poor doesn't mean you have to be depressed, and downtrodden. This is a free choice people make for themselves. Just as Sophia has cut her own cloth. Fortunately, my cloth has little smiley faces on it and a big red nose. And once in a while a blow a very loud raspberry.
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