Beds: A Personal Luxury
Growing up, as a middle child in a family with 4 siblings, I always did without. I mean everyone knows middle kids get the shaft. But I was triply screwed - my older sister was a half sister AND the oldest. Then came me. Then my little brother - the only boy. Lastly, my little sister - who was not only the youngest but by far has the largest & most demanding personality.
So when it came to living arrangements, you can imagine that I never got my own space. I was either sandwiched in a room with the two younger kids when we were at our poorest & in our smallest house. Or when we next upgraded, I was sharing bunkbeds with my younger brother because we are only 18 months apart.
Then, as we got older I had to share a room with my little sister because we were both female & the only boy needed his space for hormones and puberty to go down. The best part about this last arrangement, ironically, is that I didn’t just share a room with my little sister - SHE got the IKEA loft bed while I slept on a mat with a sleeping bad beneath her. I’m 4 years older than her mind you, so imagine how AWESOME slumber parties at 14 were when my friend realized my little sister had higher status in our family than I did.
By the time I was 15 & my parents bought the home that would initially introduce us to ‘upper middle class’ living - I was MORE than ready for my own space. my parents were extremely messy and moving towards divorce. I was entering the teenage angst phase - hormones & being a middle child had started pushing me toward a very dark place. So when my parents told me that we would each have our own bedroom in this new -gasp- 5 bedroom house — I practically shat myself. I got to paint the walls, put my (at the time very strange) artwork on the walls without fear of putting nail holes in the walls, AND…. I GOT A QUEEN SIZED BED ALL TO MYSELF. It was if angels had descended from the heavens and whispered into my parents ears that I had finally earned a personal utopia. Despite all the terrible things that happened while living in that house - parents fighting, a few misguided cry-for-attention suicide attempts, losing my virginity, and getting beat up at school - it was one of the happiest times of my life. I was so blessed to have that sanctuary.
Since then, I’ve been a terrible stickler for that - by some standards - small luxury of a real bed & physical private personal space. Growing up in the middle of a big chaotic family has given me more than a few survival skills, but also fully developed some very distinct personal preferences. I have to recognize not everybody feels this same way or has this same need, but it’s one of those things I just have to have.
