The Price for Peace
I came across an article, examining the norms growing up as a Gen Xer in the 80’s. Comical it is to reflect on the backdrop of our upbringing, contrasting brightly with today’s standards.
I could relate . . . recalling that three-hour drive to our family’s cabin in Northern Michigan. I was a toddler, sitting on my mothers lap in the front seat. The VW bug, stuffed with six children and two parents, didn’t have seatbelts. The twins were the youngest and had the privilege of sitting in the “bucket”; the trunk of the hatchback. When my parents sprang for a bigger car with plenty of seating, we would tumble over the seats as they barreled down I-75.
The summer days we’d be locked out of the house until dinner time; Mom installing a drinking fountain outside preventing any burdensome intrusions. Being out all day, running the neighborhood with no supervision, with complete freedom. Although humorous, it set the stage for Gen X’s life of independence. We got our drivers licenses at 16, and forged our way into adulthood, moving out at 18.
What I remember is the violence. Our Baby Boomer[1] parents were true to their cohort’s name, having six children in seven years. That era where birth control was the rhythm method and it didn’t matter resources were scarce, “What’s one more potato in the pot?” We had a three-bedroom home burgeoning with energy, being loud. My Dad worked evening’s in Detroit’s automobile factory requiring his rest. Trying to get six children ready; all hell breaking loose yelling, when Dad was woken from our loud departure.
Spanking doesn’t encapsulate control required in tight quarters because it occurred well past the spanking age. There were bare butt beltings after our epic shoe fight. I cannot count the number of brooms broken trying to get my brother to mow the lawn. The beating my sister endured, being caught making out with a boyfriend on the back patio. This was common back then, calling it discipline, keeping all those unruly kids in line.
My parents, raised by the hardened Silent generation[2], guided by their post-war, post-depression fears did not have the skills to face parenting with emotional intelligence. They did the best they could, trying to have peace at all costs. Crying or fighting was prohibited. My Dad was the epitome of fun, where happiness was the only feeling permitted. I loved my parents, and we had a happy childhood. There were theme parks, birthday parties, boating, and our backyard with a swimming pool.
The consequence for quiet in a full house, is oppression. Stuffing negative emotions resulted in people who struggled with conflict. In order to survive, you had to hide your true feelings, thus resulting in loss of your true self. In adulthood, the cracks inevitably come where the last time us six siblings were together was 15 years ago. Where this one isn’t talking to that one, “She’s toxic!” And any group texts inevitably result in bullying from the simmering anger no one will face.
My five siblings and I gathered with our cousins, vacationing Up North at our cabin.
Each generation evolving but carrying their baggage with them. Our Millennial and Gen Z children had a different childhood, learning lesson’s from our trauma. I look at it with nostalgia because siblings are our first friends and enemies. They knew us before we knew ourselves and the blood ties connecting us are precious. I long for their laughter and tears, understanding the price we paid was losing each other.
Many of the examples in the article and videos were spot-on and amusing. I agree it made us good problem solvers.
You share an interesting perspective.
Wow everyone doing the best they can, from the awareness level they’re at. I’m so glad we’re evolving.