Millenial Sandwich

I can only write from my own perspective. Born in 1993, I was raised somewhat 80’s-style and identify strongly with the Millenial label.

My best friend and I walked ourselves home from Kindergarten, only fearing the ambushes of our older brothers who had run off ahead of us. We rode in the trunk of his dad’s hatchback so we could wave at the drivers behind us and we collected beanie babies and trained Furbies for fun. Carseats were not a concern.

We were left in the car during grocery trips, but that was the norm then. My fondest memories were of our free-range galavants through the neighborhood and woods.

We attempted to sell our brother’s pokemon cards on the street to strangers.

I had a secret spot behind a thick tangle of brambles next to a creek where nobody could find me.

Now as a mother, I do wonder where the adults in these memories were. Perhaps they were hovering nearby or watching through the window, as I do when my daughter thinks she is playing alone. Though I would be a bit surprised if we were allowed to do all that we did if we had been thoroughly supervised.

But I don’t say that to put blame on my parents. My dad was often gone on business trips or working in his office when not, so my mother was responsible for managing the care of four children (often plus the neighbor kids), while cooking all the meals, and cleaning the house. I get burnt out from just my two kids sometimes, and I like to believe they could see that we were fairly responsible.

I’m in the thick of it now. The blurry-eyed sleep deprivation. The vague feeling that I’m not doing enough, though I’m not sure what else I should be doing.