I was 51 before I had a bedroom of my own in my own place, and that was sadly, purely by accident. When you were the middle daughter, there was no way that it was ever going to happen. Me to be the chosen one to get my own room, huh! And then my brother was born, so no chance!
I did my fair share of driving my sisters crazy, though, during the childhood years spent in our family home. I was the middle child afterall; that speaks for itself! Privacy is so important, so sometimes we hide things. Shared bedrooms lead to the instigation of secret hiding places. But I can say this:
They never found my treasures!
The most important person in your life is you. If you don’t look out for yourself, you cannot dream of “being there” for others. I was the roomy mate from hell, one of the worst people you would want to have to share with. Untidy!
The ‘pile file’ system of clothing in the corner on top of my boxes of junk worked very well when finding a hanger was not an option, as it was late when you crept in after a date. In the morning when asked to tidy up, or “TIDY UP!”, you extracted all garments that needed the go to the laundry basket, and saved the rest for a rainy day. Sports clothes lay in a heap on the end of the bed, socks kicked under the bed…. No!
Treasures! So what were my treasures?
Not money, as we didn’t get pocket money regularly. (Maybe birthday money, ) I hid my ‘diaries’, books in all shapes and sizes, I liked to think of them as, diaries. They began their life as diaries, with entries about holidays, and ended up filled with beginnings of stories, poetry, words to songs and lists.
The mind was always working overtime, doing three things at once, as you do when you are a woman! Always having to write things down while I had the idea, you see, even in the younger years. Or may forget it later when I am writing that book I was going to publish……
I hid my sweets, if we were lucky and allowed to take three or four as the bag of sweets was offered around, one or two of mine were always saved and stowed away. This was a good system, because when ‘others’ saw you munching sweets on a ‘non sweet’ day, they were insanely jealous.
I wallowed in this, what a witch!
I hid the code to my Gibberish language, shared with my cousin and pen friend in Rhodesia. It drove our parents to distraction, as they could not share our news. There was no need to hide our letter’s! Oh yes, and the piece of wedding cake that I slept on time and again in the hope that I would dream about that guy at school that I was madly in love with.
I can say that if I had received love letters, that is where they would have been hidden; but when I fell in love for real, that was that, no time for love letters. But there were loads of wish lists, poems about us, favourite songs, lists for the ‘bottom drawer’ collections for the new home together, what we needed, all spirited away to safety. There were lists with prices of furniture, honeymoon destinations, household costs, areas to live and even names for our children.
They all had pride of place in my secret hiding place.
I have wondered off the point a little now, as by the time this happened, I was then no longer a child, was I! My childhood room, my shared room. Where was my secret hiding place that I will never forget?
Go on guess!