Write about your childhood bedroom.
I shared my bedroom when I was very young with my younger brother and sister. My parents were building our house as we lived in it and the upstairs bedrooms were not finished so our bedroom was downstairs. All three of us shared the one room. I slept in my father’s old bed. My brother had a twin bed, and my sister was in her crib. It was rather cramped. There was no room to play in the bedroom; it was strictly for sleeping purposes. There were two widows which made the room bright, opening to the north and east. The room had a closet and a built-in chest of drawers, as well as another chest of drawers. I remember a pair of pajamas I had as a child; they had panda bears on them and I loved them.
My sister was constantly getting into trouble for climbing out of her crib at night and following my mother back into the kitchen where my mother was canning vegetables. She was always getting spanked. She never seemed to learn to stay in her bed. I couldn’t understand it. My brother and I stayed in our beds after Mom put us to bed.
My bedroom upstairs was the first to be finished when I was around 4 years old. I moved upstairs at that point to my very own room. Then came my brother’s room, then my sister’s room. It was heavenly having my own room. But I went through a period when I came downstair in the middle of the night every night and my parents promised to buy me a doll if I stayed in my room all night. I managed to force myself to stay upstairs because I wanted the doll. The phase didn’t last for too long, but long enough that it annoyed them, I guess.
These were my childhood bedrooms. I went from a very cramped room to a very spacious room of my own. Two extremes.