what was your childhood like?

OK, you asked so I will tell.

I was born to a hard working mechanic and a sick, both mentally and physically housewife. Life was never boring either. Sometimes my dear mom would beat up the neighborhood ladies. One she used to brag about hitting in the head with a board, she was rel proud of the fact that it had a big nail in it.

She complained about being in pain alot, so she took pain killers, she had more tha one doctor that prescribed them. Once, she was found out and could not get her drugs, no problem! She started drinking instead. She used to attack my father and loved to make him bleed. Once I remember her trying to tear his fingers off! Yes, off. She gave it a good go, but did not suceed thank God.

Upon turning 13 years old, the boys in family, (there were three of us.) became fair game. She would throw rocks, kick and hit. She never did try to tear any body parts off though. She tried to shoot my dad one night, but due to the poor quality of the weapon, she missed!

My younger brother turned out to be a drug adict. My older brother and I are kind of normal I guess. What ever that means.

My mom was diagnosed as being schizophrenic.

My grandfather who I loved, tried to kill my mother and grandmother. He beat my mother in the head with a hammer.

He was a drunk , but he loved me. He was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died from it. It was the reason he tried to kill them. He was normaly a gentle man. I was 8 years old.

Please forgive the mispellings, spell check in not working.

How was yours?

I was cared for, but my parents were not affectionate, I can't ever remember hugging my mother and can recall every time I did my Dad. I had all Grandparents around so I had a lot of diversity. Most all people think their childhood was unsatisfactory in some way, since that is the most I have to complain about mine was OK

I had a split childhood. One with hectic, drug addicted partying mother and hardworking alcoholic father (who fought but stayed together) and the other with a kind, caring, loving, ancient grandparent who taught me everything she knew. I never considered myself a kid, I always felt and thought like I do now... very mature. Creepy mature. Weird-people-out mature. I understood why and how of everything, and nothing shocked me.

My time was spent either at school and in my room at home, watching the sound of music on video and rearranging and cleaning my room. I still rearrange and clean constantly. I find comfort in it.

Summers with my grandma, in her garden, pruning, picking, canning and jarring... sewing... learning the meaning of life. She made me who I am today. She passed away when I was 11, but I took her 80 years of knowledge with me.

Then I discovered boys and weed at 13, and the day of my first kiss I threw all my barbies away.

My childhood was present. Neither good nor bad. I was numb and understanding and sympathetic to all the situations I encountered. I just absorbed it. I am pretty much the same thing now.

The writer Milan Kundera once came up with the idea of "artificial childhood". He says that artificial childhood is the gentle, tender one we remember...and that it's artificial because childhood is neither gentle nor tender.

The film "Magnolia" also uses the quote "Never mistake children for angels." and I agree with that too: we see kids as being angelic and innocent, but in looking back...they can actually be little monsters. All the good traits - like "sharing" and "taking turns" and "being nice" are ones that we teach and drill into their heads.

So, my answer to your question is:

Brutal, cutthroat, and for the most part, enjoyable.

It was pretty ok. My mom didn't work so we had real summer vacations without having to go to babysitters or daycare. And we spent most weekends at the lake where we had a couple of boats docked.

And either we were really naive or there was no crime because we could wake up and leave the house and be gone all day, coming home only for lunch and when the street lights came on, and the parents didn't worry one bit.

Those were the days.

alchoholic violent father, mother had m.s. both gone now. Loving grandmother and grandfather and aunts and uncles/cousins. Great brothers (two) and a nice sister. A very creative childhood learning to draw and play guitar and swimming on weekends at the DU fieldhouse. broken arm , broken knee... shot with arrow... all else seems to have gone well. I work as a Home Health Care professional now. Don't drink.

The only thing I remember about childhood was I couldnt wait for the days my ball games were on. I had an intense love for sports.

I was intimidated by girls. I had low self esteem-a harsh fault finding father, and was so backward it was pathetic.

Now I am fearless and hug and kiss my own children and always show them love so they will have a better life than I did. I could of had it worse though and I know things could of been better, but one helluva lot worse!

I just wrote this poem about my childhood.

My Childhood

With brute force, I write these words

My childhood

ridicule like barbed wire

how did the children know this word

contaminated

this word contaminated

they threw at me like a volleyball back and forth

they didn’t drop the ball

contaminated the word holds

some memories are never forgotten

I told my shrink

this word contaminated

never to be forgotten

I don’t know if I can involve you in my pain,

the stench of my pain

They burned me, branded me like in the Scarlet Letter

with this word contaminated

That’s how I learned the power of words,

the holiness of each word

each word like a statue

each word like a holy pagan god

that’s how I know the acidity of each word

the science of brute force

the torture of ridicule

the graphic design of those childish pagan gods

Were those children my pagan gods

Dredging up these memories from the sea beds

from the mud oozing between my toes

Contaminated heard in the classroom, playground,

the street where I lived, in the elevator going home,

this word followed me wherever I went

No whispers, no shame

the word said out loud

without barriers

with pointed fingers

with proud laughter

would this break you, reader

how would you bear it, reader

how would you suffer, reader

They accused

I stand falsely accused like Dreyfus

Now and forever the eternal outcaste

Now and forever absolved from fitting in anywhere

Taunts burning me at the stake like Joan of Arc

i don't know i was so traumatized by my physically emotional and sexually abusive father that all six of his kids blocked out the childhood experience. my oldest sister who is almost thirty has recently started to remember parts of it and my brother who had head trauma started to remember some too. but we are okay. hes an idiot. i wish i had at least some recollection b/c i figure some childhood is better than no childhood. maybe

My childhood was protected from the outside world. I grew up in church and always did what was expected of me. Now I wonder if I did the right thing after all.