When I was ten I lived next door to a bar called Skipper’s Tavern which was on the corner of Ontario and Second St in Albany. My family didn’t have much. Six of us stuffed were into a small second floor two-bedroom apartment with a flat tarred roof and no shade (which, in case you are wondering makes for a very, very hot summer).
My wife grew up a little different. She lived in a nice suburban home in a small city called Lockport, NY. She lived, basically, in the polar opposite environment that I did.
And now my kids live in a similar place to where my wife grew up. It’s great for them and I thank the universe every day for them not having to go through some of the things that I did (no details, maybe one day).
Between my wife and my kids, they just don’t understand.
Example, my kids were complaining that I was telling them they had to stay outside for a while because it was such a beautiful day. I said, “For the life of me I cannot understand how you people don’t want to play in this backyard all of the time. When I was your age my backyard was the size of the deck your standing on…”
I don’t say this to make it a competition like, “oh hey, I had it SO much worse than you…”
I say it because my brain cannot reconcile them having something so incredible.
And it is incredible.
They don’t know any different and I am thankful that they don’t.
I don’t remember being my kids age and thinking about how horrible it was. I didn’t know any different, just like they don’t now.