Have you seen this going around Facebook?
My curfew was the street lights, my mom didn't call my cell, she yelled my name, I played outside with friends, not online. If I didn't eat what my mom cooked, then I didn't eat. Sanitizer didn't exist, but you COULD get your mouth washed out with soap. I rode a bike without helmet, getting dirty was OK, and your neighbors cared as much as your parents did. Re-post if you drank water from a garden hose & survived!
This picture is so different for a child who grew up in an abusive household. There were good times and bad, but the fear in your heart is hard to ever get over.
This is the way I remember it.
“My curfew was the sound of dad’s truck and trailer turning in on the end of the street. That is when I knew my friends had to go home and I had to be in the house. I didn’t dare go to their houses if I thought he might come home. If dad had a bad day, that is when he’d line us up and whip us with the belt. Sanitizer didn’t exist, but I could be beaten for whatever misbehavior he imagined. I rode a bike without a helmet but got yelled at and berated when I fell off of it and got my knees skinned. Getting dirty was a way to get in trouble, too, because he worked like a slave to buy you those clothes. Your neighbors hid their eyes and shut their windows and pretended they didn’t hear. Re-post of your childhood was not Mayberry.”
