Go To Your Room

i've heard those words too many times. Just never in my own family. I've watched my friends ' enormous homes and by friends, I mean Zack Morris, Carlton Banks, and these days, Seth Cohen. Their parents keep getting mad at them and exclaims, "Go to your room!" Since that is one of my few windows into the upperclass world, I suppose that's how many families are, even if they are not. Apparently, parents say this because they are think that the room was enough punishment and they wouldn't like it. Or that they are afraid that if they stayed close to their children, they might just lose it. Or some hoped that if their children went to their room, the children would calm down and come back with a different attitude. In my case, my parents just slapped me. I got scared and stopped. And that's why I don't do drugs. To be clear, I do believe in corporal punishment. But that's not the point.

The point is that I've never been sent to my room. I've never had a room to go to. I slept in a hammock, graduated to my parents bed, and lived with siblings ever since. Some days, I had wished for just a little privacy. It didn't even need to come with locks and keys, but just space. Showers seemed to be the answer, but then again, I couldn't waste too much water. I envied peers who had a bigger room than my own parents. Therefore, I never understood why parents would send their children to them rooms. You got in trouble, so go have some privacy. You broke the vase, so you don't get spanked. You stole from the minimart, so stop having a relationship with me.

Now that my family is made of only adults, and my brother and sister-in-law are about to have a baby, I have using this break as a time to look at parenting and how it works in some cases, but not in others. When it comes to rooms, somewhere along the way, I think parents got it wrong. In comparison with parents, when I make a mistake, my Father says, "You! Come here now!" He runs to me when I just slap in the face or curse him out, and proud of it. His arms are wide open, jolting and chasing after me with tears of passion running down his face while I mock and spit back. Instead of sending me to my room, he demands me at His room. I wonder how it would look like if parents stopped saying, "Go to your room," and began saying, "Come here, come to my room."

As each day passes, the lack of space in my childhood reveals itself to be more of a blessing than a curse.