Raised by VHS and Spamwiches

Every day after school, my brothers and I walked home to an empty house. No one was waiting for us. It was normal not to have parents greeting us at the door when we walked in. My brothers and I were latchkey kids, which shaped a lot of who I am now. I learned the lesson of independence because I had to. My mom was a nurse and my dad worked in HVAC, so someone had to keep things running until they got home.

Little did they know that leaving three kids home alone every afternoon felt less like babysitting and more like giving us our own tiny kingdom.

It was the ’90s. My parents handed me responsibility when they decided I was old enough to be self-sufficient. At that time, my mom had taught me how to do things for myself: do my own laundry, wash the dishes, cook for myself, and get whatever I needed without having to ask her. When my parents were off to work, I became responsible for my younger brothers.

The upside of my parents hiring me as their babysitter was that I was cheap. All they needed to provide was the roof over my head and the necessities to live.

My brothers and I were close growing up. I’d say each of us had our own contributions that we brought to the table. However, I was the ringleader, so whatever I did, my brothers did as well. Every afternoon we took the same long walk home. Sometimes we’d stop at the convenience store for Pogs or snacks if we had money. Other days we’d walk with the neighborhood kids until everyone peeled off toward their own house.

When we got home, like clockwork, I made Spamwiches for myself and my brothers before we sat in front of the TV.

We were raised by VHS tapes and weekday television. Batman: The Animated Series. X-Men: The Animated Series. Saved by the Bell. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Those shows shaped our sense of humor and probably gave us a slightly distorted view of how life was supposed to work.

Then, like clockwork, we’d hear the sound of our squeaky garage door opening.

Mom was home.

We were all excited because we missed her. Eventually my dad would show up too. We spent the remaining hours eating dinner and watching TV until it was time for bed.

Every day was the same routine, and that’s what made us feel safe. Our home was safe, the TV provided entertainment we knew we could rely on, there was food, and we knew our parents would always come home at the same time.

Summer vacation was hard, though. We were excited not to have to wake up early and go to school, but school kept us occupied. The saying, “Idle hands are the devil’s playground,” was true in our household. My parents expected us to stay inside the house for nine hours without any adult supervision. Going from two or three hours of self-sufficiency was easy, but nine hours of finding ways to fill our time was tough.

We developed our own routines. We made breakfast and lunch, kept the house clean, watched every VHS we owned, and played with whatever our imaginations could come up with. You’d think that’s enough to occupy a full day, but as a child, you have the attention span of a squirrel.

The games I remember most were the ones where we all dressed up in my clothes, put on makeup, and called ourselves “The Girls.” We were a rock band that sang and danced. (Don’t tell my brothers I told you.)

Peter Pan was on heavy rotation because we wanted to act out every scene. Those were great memories. As a kid, I remember being bossy. I delegated responsibilities, created our fun, and my brothers went right along with it.

There were a few times when I was feeling bold and would take my brothers to visit our friends next door or down the street. Sometimes our friends would come over to our house instead.

My curiosity eventually started testing the boundaries. I wanted to know what freedom felt like.

My mom always called at the same time to check on us, and both of my parents came home around the same time every day. I knew I could get away with it as long as we were home when my mom called or before my parents got back.

One day, my brothers and I were outside playing when my mom came home early.

We got caught.

Needless to say, I got in trouble and got my behind whooped.

I never really learned my lesson. After a few weeks, when everything settled back to normal, I went right back to sneaking out or having our friends over.

I just learned how to be more slick.

This went on well into middle school until my mom ended up staying home.

Spending time with my brothers remains one of the fondest memories of my childhood.

Looking back, I don’t think my parents realized how much responsibility they handed me at nine years old. I learned how to cook, clean, solve problems, take care of my brothers, and entertain myself long before I was ready.

Maybe that’s why I still have such a hard time asking for help. Somewhere along the way, figuring it out became my default setting.

Some of that responsibility was heavier than a nine-year-old should’ve carried. Some of it made me grow up too fast.

But it also taught me that I could figure things out.

Even now, when life feels overwhelming, there’s still a nine-year-old latchkey kid inside me who believes dinner will somehow get made, everyone will be okay, and we’ll figure it out.

And somehow…

We usually do.