You know the most important thing to do if you want to be a writer? Practice. And yet, you get home from a long day at work and you know the last thing you want to do is sit down and write. Me too. Until I signed up for Writing 101 – WordPress will sent a prompt every weekday for the month of April.
Day 11: “Where did you live when you were 12 years old?”
When I was 12, I was a people pleaser, more aptly I was a parent pleaser. I wanted my parents to feel good about the decision they helped me make (read: made for me), so I dutifully agreed, to four different sports, music lessons and dance classes. You name it. I did it. And even today, I remain so grateful for all the opportunities.
However, I also agreed to lace, and pink and hearts and flowers. When I was a kid I ran with the boys. My closest playmate was my brother; all the kids in the neighbourhood were boys. They ran around, I ran around, they climbed fences, I climbed fences – I’m sure you get the picture.
The year I turned 12, my parents decided it was time for an adult room and I would get to help choose what it would look like. I was ecstatic. I was already picturing bright purple or red walls, dark brown or black furniture, photographs and posters.
My mom had a slightly different idea in mind. She saw her only daughter as needing something more grown up, she saw me appreciating the light pink wall paper, with the lace hearts and ribbons on it when I was older. Being the parent pleaser that I was, and I mean, hey, they were adults, they probably knew way more about being older than I was, I went along with it.
My room was beautifully decorated. Pale pink walls, perfectly level wall paper and borders. My name was hung on the wall in stuffed pink letters. The desk was pink, the bookshelf pink, the headboard pink, and the dresser pink. My bedspread was a soft purple, but when you go closer you realized it was not purple, by tiny purple and pink flowers so closely together that it gave the illusion of a solid colour. Everything else was white and lace.
It remains that way today. I am one of those kids who is lucky enough to still have her childhood bedroom when she goes home for a visit. Honestly, I still think the room is beautiful today (company who visits my parents comment too), but I am still waiting for the day that I find I really love the pink, lace, hearts and flowers. Maybe I’m just not old enough yet.
Rules for living 