Brevard bedroom

I enjoyed a quiet, rainy morning today by taking a paperback off the bookshelf that I’d purchased a while ago, but hadn’t made the time to read yet. It’s entitled, “Home: American Writers Remember Rooms of Their Own”. I can totally relate to the following essay snippet, by Lynda Barry, on her son’s teenage bedroom:

Keep Out. Keep OUT. THIS MEANS YOU. Keep! Out! But Mom always comes in with the bogus excuse of ‘Here are some clean socks and underwear, I’ll put them in your drawer. As if I can’t get my own socks and underwear from the laundry room, as if I need to get them at all, why can’t I just keep them by the dryer but no, she just needs any excuse to come into my room and yell “This room looks like a tornado hit it!” as if she has ever seen anything hit by a tornado, and then she’s coming back dragging the vacuum cleaner, as if she has the right to vacuum my room! I go, MOM, NEVER VACUUM IN HERE!” I got too many important things of life on that floor. Stuff that dropped that I might need later!…”

Now you might think that this got me reminiscing about my son’s old room, (and it’s close, believe me), but what I started remembering was *my* old room, where I grew up. You know, a lot of people ask me if I was organized as a kid, and the answer was yes. But neat? Never. Seriously, after living with me during my teen years, my parents never would have believed that I could possibly grow up and become a professional organizer.

But as I say, you can be organized and not be neat. And vice versa. Yes, I was a Terrible Teenage Slob and didn’t grow out of it until I had my own place. My mother once got so frustrated with me that she took a pile of clothes off my floor, and proceeded to drop them one piece at a time, in the hallway, down the stairs, and all the way to the front door. And that was the sight that greeted me as I returned that evening with my date.

But my room was my little castle, my sanctuary, and I guess I never considered my mom’s concern with its tidiness to be relevant. (Ain’t payback grand? 😉 More important to me was the way that my room functioned in my *own* life, and in many ways it was the beginning of my belief that environments need to reflect both the inner and outer lives of their residents.

Question for you: How did your childhood/teenage bedroom reflect the curiosities, interests or passions of the adult you grew up to be?
(I’ll post my answer in an upcoming entry. Right now my carpal tunnel is yelling at me to get off the computer.)

One Response to "What did your teenage bedroom say about you?"

  1. Jamie

    August 8, 2007

    Ooh, I love this question. I’m already scanning my brain to see if I have any pictures of my teenage bedroom. I think I do and if I can find it, I’ll definitely write about it on my blog!

    I love your distinction between organized and neat. That’s so interesting and really busts up a common perception.

    and oh, my, I’m just imagining the look on your face when you came home from that date!

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