Just out of college I still believed that children cared for the same things as adults. If I hadn't washed my hair I'd be scared that the kid would find flakes in my hair and find me gross. Or if a kid found out I didn't have a job I figured they'd look down on me.
Sometimes these thoughts would even prevent me from interacting with my girlfriend's five year old brother. Unless I was to some level of prim and proper I'd make up excuses like being too busy or not in a good mood. But actually I just thought that he would not like me for reasons a date might not like me.
It's only recently that I've recognized that kids don't care about the same details we adults do. We both share the deeper philosophical needs such as playing an important role and being respected, but they don't care that Man 1 is 1.5 inches shorter than Man 2 in the same way those two men do.
When I first moved in with the Shook's I remember being assured that the bedroom situation was temporary. Ken, Dan, and I all shared one room, but Craig -- the dad -- was finishing up a room in the basement for Ken. Now as an adult I can see why I might want to reassure a kid who has to share a room with two other growing boys. But back then I didn't care at all. I never was in want for more space and I cared about other things.
Ken seemed excited about his new room though. Maybe because he was older he wanted symbols of maturity such as having a room of his own. I think he still liked sharing that room with us though. But it was time for him to have his own space. He was already buying grownup things like condoms and porn magazines. He probably got annoyed having to hide those things in the same room as his little brother and his little brother's Korean friend who was now staying at his family's house.
The room in the basement was smaller. And it felt almost steril. It felt more utilitarian than the one we initially stayed upstairs at. Up there we had the corner so we had two large windows that gave us a view into the countryside forest. You got none of that in Kenny's room. It was the basement so he had two small slits near the ceiling looking out just above ground. And his ceiling tiles were the cheap square kind that every midwestern church and office space seemed to have.
But none of us cared about any of that. Once Ken moved into his bedroom he always invited Dan and I to come down to the basement and chill with him there. We didn't care that we couldn't see the forest or that we were in a very unaesthetic, no-frills, rectangular space. We only cared that we could blast rap music and watch bad TV shows and movies on Kenny's TV without getting into trouble with the parents. We could also play Madden and swear at each other all we wanted.
Ken's room is where I started learning how to swear. The proper way to say mother fucker. How to call someone a pussy or a queer. I still think of how I used to talk before that moment and then after and laugh.
Sometimes these thoughts would even prevent me from interacting with my girlfriend's five year old brother. Unless I was to some level of prim and proper I'd make up excuses like being too busy or not in a good mood. But actually I just thought that he would not like me for reasons a date might not like me.
It's only recently that I've recognized that kids don't care about the same details we adults do. We both share the deeper philosophical needs such as playing an important role and being respected, but they don't care that Man 1 is 1.5 inches shorter than Man 2 in the same way those two men do.
When I first moved in with the Shook's I remember being assured that the bedroom situation was temporary. Ken, Dan, and I all shared one room, but Craig -- the dad -- was finishing up a room in the basement for Ken. Now as an adult I can see why I might want to reassure a kid who has to share a room with two other growing boys. But back then I didn't care at all. I never was in want for more space and I cared about other things.
Ken seemed excited about his new room though. Maybe because he was older he wanted symbols of maturity such as having a room of his own. I think he still liked sharing that room with us though. But it was time for him to have his own space. He was already buying grownup things like condoms and porn magazines. He probably got annoyed having to hide those things in the same room as his little brother and his little brother's Korean friend who was now staying at his family's house.
The room in the basement was smaller. And it felt almost steril. It felt more utilitarian than the one we initially stayed upstairs at. Up there we had the corner so we had two large windows that gave us a view into the countryside forest. You got none of that in Kenny's room. It was the basement so he had two small slits near the ceiling looking out just above ground. And his ceiling tiles were the cheap square kind that every midwestern church and office space seemed to have.
But none of us cared about any of that. Once Ken moved into his bedroom he always invited Dan and I to come down to the basement and chill with him there. We didn't care that we couldn't see the forest or that we were in a very unaesthetic, no-frills, rectangular space. We only cared that we could blast rap music and watch bad TV shows and movies on Kenny's TV without getting into trouble with the parents. We could also play Madden and swear at each other all we wanted.
Ken's room is where I started learning how to swear. The proper way to say mother fucker. How to call someone a pussy or a queer. I still think of how I used to talk before that moment and then after and laugh.
