Let’s face it. As children, we’re often exposed to stresses that end up defining our entire lives. Whether we had trouble fitting in with our peers, or we just had a bad case of acne, no matter how you look at it, growing up is difficult as heck.
For example, when I was a child, I had an extremely strict upbringing, where I was expected to excel in every sphere of academia, whether I wanted to or not.
In fact, looking back on it, growing up, there was really only one thing worse than not getting straight A’s on my report card: Child stranglers.
They were my major concern.
But other than that, I was always really (really) scared of not getting a 4.0 GPA on my report card.
Because then my parents would have been disappointed in me.
And I don’t know, maybe these stresses were just a natural byproduct of my environment. You see, as a child, I went to an ultra-competitive feeder school that fostered an atmosphere of intense rivalry. And, every day, I was constantly reminded (both by teachers and by friends) that the most important thing in life was getting straight A’s on my report card. Hell, even my guidance counselor told me that I was expected to get a 4.0 GPA, otherwise I would never be accepted into Swarthmore.
And that REALLY stressed me out!!!
Of course, while we’re on the subject of “bad environments,” it was also pretty stressful that I just so happened to live in a neighborhood that had a statistically gargantuan number of child stranglers in it – cold, cold men with wicked hearts and long pale fingers, who lurked in the shadows, just waiting for children to leave their young necks unprotected.
Who knows. Maybe it’s just the nostalgia talking, but it often felt like on almost every corner of my quaint, suburban neighborhood, you couldn’t even throw a rock without hitting one of those pesky, pesky child stranglers.
Forget making the honor roll – that’s what kept me up at night when I was a child!
Well, it was one of the things that kept me up.
I was also deeply afraid of not making the honor roll. But the child stranglers were a larger concern, for the most part.
And I don’t know, it just seems like such a cliche, but I can’t help but feel that my parents played a major part in all my adolescent stress. I still remember how, every day after school, my father would put down his edition of Harper’s Magazine, stare me directly in the eyes, and say, “Dan, have you done your homework, yet? You know, you’ll never get into Swarthmore with a shoddy work ethic like that, now will you?”
And I would reply, “I know, sir. I’m sorry.”
And then off to work I’d go.
Then, a few minutes later, right as I was opening up my A.P. Biology textbook, my mother would poke her head into my bedroom, hold up a copy of the local newspaper, and fearfully whisper, “Oh no. Oh God, no. They found another child… strangled. He was strangled, Daniel! Strangled by another one of those DAMNED child stranglers. Why, oh God why, did we move into a neighborhood with such a statistically high level of child stranglers? That makes twelve this month alone! He was your age, Daniel… he was he your age and he was child-strangled!!!!”
I gotta admit, that really stressed me out. Waaaaay more than the A-minus I got on my A.P. History exam during my sophomore year of high school.
I mean, that was only, like, 85% as stressful as the child stranglers!
Anyways, I know that this kind of essay may come off as “complainey,” so I’ll wrap things up. Because when you think about it, all of us had stressful childhoods in one way or another. And it seems pretty silly to imagine that my childhood was substantially harder than anyone else’s.
Besides, on the bright side, it was way less stressful than all the adult stranglers I encountered once I got into Swarthmore.
Those guys were just the worst!
