Sharing space can make siblings closer, but for others, all kids want is a room of their own…
I shared a room with my brother until I was 10 years of age. He was nearly 13.
It was out of necessity, but I’m not entirely sure it was unusual back in the 80s. I don’t remember being particularly put out by this at the time as I was still quite young. I had my corner of the room and could still set up my Barbie townhouse and dub songs from the radio on my sweet, sweet tape deck so I was fine.
My brother, however, remembers this period of time very differently. Of course, he was at that difficult time in life where he was no longer technically a child but also, still not yet an adult, and quite frankly he resented the effervescent hippy child bounding into his space and annoying him each day. I understand this now.
Back in the 80s, we lived in the quintessential Aussie weatherboard home with three bedrooms, one bathroom, a tiny yet functional kitchen and large backyard. We were also living there with my grandfather who was descending rapidly into Alzheimer’s and therefore, our squeeze, the sharing of rooms wasn’t questioned, it was simply necessary.
It was apparent though, when I did eventually get my own bedroom, how much I’d actually been missing out on. For one, unabashedly dancing around my room like a dickhead to Kylie Minogue and, also, being able to scour my Dolly magazine for hours on end wearing nothing but a t-shirt and undies. Simple pleasures.