FLLLLLLLLLLLOTSAM COME ON DOOOOOOOWWWWWWN.
Were you a latchkey kid?
Do you remember latchkey kids?
Do we still call them latchkey kids?
As in, you got home after school and your parents weren’t there until hours later? After THEIR work day was over. Was that you? Did you absolutely love it?
I never grew up that way. My mom was RIGHT THERE at the glass screen door the second my little sister and I hopped off the bus and schlepped our way down the wide New Mexico street with our backpacks hanging off ONE SHOULDER, hello we were so hip.
Aaron was a latchkey kid. Along with his two slightly older sisters. And dude. The stories he has to tell.
The whole thing fascinates me, truly. The concept of a small child using his or her own key to unlock the front door, go inside to an empty house, climb up on the counter to grab a snack (he did this), turn on the tube for a show and/or do homework and/or ignore said homework and leave the house to ride his or her bike all over town for hours (he did this). It’s so ’80s! I’m completely obsessed. Yet I feel like no one could do this now days without getting locked in prison forever. The parents. Not the kids.
Well, maybe the kids.
My childhood was nothing like this. I got home, ate a piece of cheese, watched Rin Tin Tin K9 Cop for thirty minutes, played my Nintendo for thirty minutes, practiced piano for 45 minutes. Then finished homework before my dad got home. Then we had supper (not dinner. supper), then The Cosby Show, then the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, then a bath, then bed. The end.
Not that I wanted to be a latchkey kid, but if you WERE, I desperately need stories. Tell me everything. Every juicy detail. Were you diligent about your homework, or did you bail and go cause a ruckus in town!? YOU DID, DIDN’T YOU, YOU LITTLE RASCAL.
Do . . . your toes ever go numb?
Like randomly go numb. Not because you’re cold. The long one. The long middle one. Does it ever just go numb?
Let’s say my long middle toe goes numb from time to time. Hypothetically. We’ll just be living our lives, and it decides to numb up and get all weird and shy. Let’s say it does that. What does that mean? Is it a circulation thing? A getting-older thing? Does it need therapy? A little alone time without the rest of my toes crowding it and suffocating its need to feel free and empowered? Is that it?
Am I going to die?
Let’s also say that I have a splinter in my right thumb that I can’t get out for the life of me. A tiiiiiiiiny splinter that is no longer on the surface of my skin, but hibernating underneath the epidermis in protest of a life it once knew.
The tiniest little thing. A speck, really! And let’s say it’s been there for . . . oh, over two weeks.
Will it get infected? Will my thumb turn green and fall off in the middle of the night? Or will it just dissolve (gross) eventually and turn into a nothing?
Am I going to die?
Okay so the other day I took the kids to the doc for their five-year checkup before they start the BIG K this August. And the doc goes, “Do they take vitamins?” And I chirped, “Nope!,” without even a thought. She type-y type types into her little laptop in silence, and we moved on.
I know that was such a riveting story for you.
SHOULD THEY THOUGH? Are the Flintstone gummy things still a thing? When do kids need to take vitamins? Or do they at all? Or is it all hogwash? GUYS IF THEY WERE LATCHKEY KIDS THEY WOULD SO FORGET.
“Ten million strooooooong, (and the little girl’s voice all delicate) and growing.” And then the little piano key reach. You know you remember.
We’re in Fayetteville! (apparently I’m excited about that.) But the high today is only 62 (but sunny!) and I need it 72. I’m such a diva.
Will you dye eggs today? Eat smoked salmon? Organize Easter baskets? Sneak some candy? All of the above but backwards? ‘Atta girl.