A Room With a View

Lately, Mr. Insomnia has been stopping by my house pretty regularly.  I try to ride it out while watching Nick at Nite or something.  Last night, I finally fell asleep during “Everybody Hates Chris” and woke up during “The George Lopez Show”.  Eh, it was my first time watching a full episode.  It was so-so to me.  I wouldn’t search for it, but if the tv was on that channel, I guess I’d let it ride.  Anyhow, the episode was about their teenage daughter and her first experiences into the dating world.  George Lopez was suspicious of her sneaky behavior (rightly so!) and the mother was very hippy, laissez-faire about the whole thing.  They disagreed on the subject and I was transported to a moment in 1991 when I thought that I was grown and my mama had to remind me that I wasn’t.

Picture it – fall 1991, I’m 15 years old, a junior in high school and starting to push the boundaries every now and again.  Once afternoon, I came home from school and my mother was sitting on my bed reading a “love” letter that my unauthorized “boyfriend” had written me.

Many thoughts floated through my head.  Damn, how’d she find that? How much did she read? What can I say? Which letter is it???? Now my mother was no snoop.  I’d left my diary out a hundred times and I was sure she’d never read it.  How did I know?  Because I tried to curse in it a few times and if she’d had read that, I’d surely know!  *lol*  Damn, I’d left it on my nightstand!!

Obviously, with so many crazy thoughts running through my head, it’s a miracle that I didn’t begin speaking in tongues.  Instead, something so ridiculous popped out and I’d live to regret it for months.

“What are you doing in my room, reading my stuff?  Can’t I have any privacy?” Then, I sighed, turned to leave the room and slammed the door.

Go ahead, shake your head. I’m shaking mine just thinking back to the scene.  I can imagine my mother slowly putting the letter on my desk and ever so slowly, following me into the hallway.  She walked over to where I stood and grabbed my jaw with her right hand, while speaking so calmly that it scared me shitless.

“Privacy?  Little girl, have you lost your damn mind?  You are allowed and expected to bath and dress in private, but that’s where it ends.  Every damn thing in this house belongs to your father and I.  We let you live here and we take care of you because you’re our child.  If you ever twist your face to throw the word privacy at me again, I’ll knock your block off.  Do you understand me?”

Didn’t I tell ya’ll a few weeks ago that Mama TDJ don’t play?  Then she smiled, kissed me on the cheek and told me to come set the table for dinner.  I stood there stunned for a few minutes.  Is that it?  Whew, I felt like I had dodged a  bullet.

Um, yeah, until the next day.  I got home from school and found that my bedroom door was gone.  Yep, removed from the hinges and taken from my doorway.  On my bed, she had written me a note that said, “TDJ, Those that slam doors don’t need them.  Love Mama, XOXOXO”

So, erra, um, on the subject of privacy, I’m MamaTDJ’s daughter.  She was old school, therefore, I’m old school.  Privacy?  Huh.  Not for my child, in my house.  I won’t be snooping (unless I my spidey sense goes off and I need to *lol*)

In the words of the infamous Senator Clay Davis, “Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttttttttttttttt!”

What kind of privacy did you have growing up?  If you are a parent, what are your thoughts regarding privacy and your children?