Parenting in the 80s and 90s

I guess you would call my parents strict when I was growing up.  But the more I think about it, the more I realize they weren't really strict in all areas, just some, and in the other areas I pretty much ran around like a banshee.  Literally.  I was outside (what seemed like) all the time running wild in the woods, stealing neighbors eggs, feeding people's horses, running from dogs, exploring abandoned barns, falling out of trees.

So, for fun, I thought I would reconstruct some of the things they were strict about and their contrasting questionable 80s and 90s parenting.  (I am not slamming my parents.  I had fun growing up.  I just can't imagine giving Brixton these freedoms nowadays or in the future). 

-STRICT ABOUT: Curfew.  This started young.  When I was 6 or 7 they strapped a watch with an alarm on my arm.  When the alarm went off I had five minutes to get home or the Gates of Hell would open.

Contrasting 1980s parenting: After the watch was set, I could go where ever I wanted.  I played alone for hours in the woods, pretending I was a pegasus, a horse, an indian princess, or a pioneer.  I caught snakes, bugs, frogs, tadpoles, and the odd baby quail (which I swear I was told it had to be drowned in a bucket, which made me feel guilty for 30 years, until I asked my dad and he said he just let it go).  I would go to stranger's houses and play in their yards.  I would ride my bike miles away, to abandoned shacks and houses.  I would go to the market and scrounge for cans to recycle so I could buy candy (like an addict already).  One time, our neighbors spotted a mountain lion in the big field across from our house and they found an eaten deer carcass in the woods.  The woods where I played.  So you would think the woods would be off-limits for a while.  Nope, go ahead, Kelley, set that watch.  Go play amongst the rattlesnakes and mountain lions.  Godspeed. 

-STRICT ABOUT: Not being exposed to bad things.  At least in our own house.  MTV was verboten.  Even VH1 was out. I watched shows like Jerry Springer on the quietest volumne humanly possible while still being able to hear even a slight glimmer of what they were talking about.  This was usually while my mom napped on the couch.  I think she was just happy I was quiet for an hour.  Even if the show was, "My Father is a Transvestite Performer."  Anyway, most of the time, we were pretty sheltered from stuff.

Contrasting 1980s parenting:  The Sleepover.  I can't even begin to count how many times I spent the night at friends' houses.  This continued well into the 90s.  "Mom, Mandy's mom said it's okay if I spend the night at her house.  Can I?"  "Who's Mandy?"  "She's in my class!"  "Oh, okay, sure."  My mom didn't know that Mandy also lived with what appeared to be a few drug addicted "uncles".  Other things sleepovers taught me about: Rated R movies (6th grade at Stacy Beard's house.  It was Maximum Overdrive).  Older brothers can be cute.  One mom told her friend in front of me that I was ugly.  Perverted ghost stories  Ouija boards. Taking walks at 3 am.  When I got older it was sneaking back to my friend's house at 6am, smoking cigarettes like I was somebody important, wearing a dog leash around my neck at the Jack in the Box drive-thru, ER visits at 1 am, walking the flume trail at 2am singing Christmas songs to ward off bears and mountain lions to go camping with a group of guys (it was all innocent--the spirit of my father's talk was VERY, VERY strong--you'll see the part about the talk comes next), and so, so many more hijinx.  Brixton is never sleeping over at someone's house.

Dog leash necklace.  We were just dressing up for JIB tacos and to go to a guy's house for 5 minutes.

Small town stuff.

        Sometimes sleepovers were just about being dorks.  Like dressing up like this.   With a wig and a mom's old prom dress or something. 

1995.  The Tom Foolery of a Girl's sleepover.  My parents had no idea where I was. 

-STRICT ABOUT: Fighting.  With my brothers.  It wasn't allowed even though it happened all the time.  We had to turn to more covert methods such as a passing swat on the head or a stealth pinch.  When my parents left us to go out for a date and I "babysat" (at age 11 or 12), it was on.  We'd lock our youngest brother out of the house while tears streamed down his face (this still makes me laugh).  Then we'd tell him he was adopted.  We'd fight and eat all the candy and sweets in the house like locusts.  I was always a great babysitter.

Contrasting 1990s parenting: In the beginning of 9th grade, I got into a fist fight with a 10th grader.  She was scrappy, she was an experienced fighter (rumor had it she got into fights at the skating rink with cholas.  And you didn't want to mess with cholas.)  and she was mad at me.  After school she punched me in the face.  From there it's just a frenzied memory of hair pulling, punching (no slaps 'round hur), headlocks, and a terrified mother of somebody who got out of her car and was screaming, "Stop!!!" at us.  We got suspended.  I thought I was so dead at home.  Yeah, I got grounded, but I could tell it was a reluctant punishment.  Also, my dad starting giving me boxing tips that night, just in case I found myself in a street fight again.  Something about "reach" and "shuffle step".    **Note: The girl and I?  We're cool now. She just got out of the hospital.  Kidding.  No, we did become friends when we were on the same cheerleading squad 2 years later.  And as much as I always wanted to try out my dad's boxing tips, I sadly never got into another fight again (yet). 

-STRICT (MORE LIKE WORRIED) ABOUT: Sex.  I'll never forget the Great Thanksgiving Incident of 1991, when my dad sat me down at the dinner table and brought out a bunch of pamphlets and papers.  Pamphlets and papers with things like penises and the cross section of lady parts on it.  There we sat, for what seemed like the eternal forever, while he broke down the dirty into minute details--just so I was crystal clear on how it all worked.  Then we had a nice talk about STDs and I think there were pictures.  I couldn't look at them in the eyes for a few days.  My mom didn't actively participate, but she was around, like lurking in a corner, or acting like she was getting something ready in the kitchen or doing dishes.  When I know she was just listening.  After the trauma of that day, I was pretty sure my virginity would be around until at least the death of my parents.

and yet...

Contrasting 1990s parenting:   I was 13 and I had a boyfriend that was 17.  RIGHT? AND MY PARENTS KNEW THIS!! This boggles the mind.  I started high school when I was still 13, since I have a November birthday.  They were like, "Have fun!" when they dropped me off at the movie theater to meet him.  And he wasn't like a great guy or anything.  He smoked.  He looked like Christian Slater (I thought) which was pretty dangerous in 1991.  His friends were disgusting.  We only dated for like a month or so, but one day after Thanksgiving and THE GREAT TALK, my then boyfriend tried to grab my (non-existent) boob. And my father's terrible words, "Erection, Syphilis, Testes" flashed through my mind and I almost threw up. We broke up the next day. 

Also, I didn't own a lot of clothes.  We didn't have a lot of money for stuff like that.  But we did have money for me to buy the shortest skirt in the world, with which I would wear black tights and platform heels.  Hello, hooker?  I wore that skirt out.  I had no idea at the time how provocative it was.  One of my teachers noticed.  He wrote in my yearbook, Kelley "Long-legs".  Can you imagine that today?  He'd be strung up and called a child molester.  I never told on you Mr. Bailey.  And
 you're retired now so it's all good.

One day I got all brave and wore that skirt without tights and with a pair of 4 inch platform strappy heels.  I die of embarrassment every time I think of this.  How in the world did no one tell me I looked like a hooker???  My own parents said nothing.  But I should have known by then.  I was 19.  They were done.    I worked in the Dean of Students office.  The ladies there were perturbed by my outfit, but nice about it.  The recommended that a skirt should never go above where your hands hit on your legs.  Finally a rule!  I still abide by it.  

***

My parents were great.  They taught me a lot.  They did a lot for us.  They just choose their battles elsewhere.  GO PARENTS!