The Midlife

As a little girl, one of the coolest rites of passage is participating in the age-old tradition of the sleepover. In the 1980s version (probably not too far off base from today’s version), they involved sleeping bags on living room or bedroom floors, an introduction to the scary slasher movies, the occasional seance, junk food, and loads of girl talk (mostly about boys). Last girl asleep gets her bra in the fridge. Seems idyllic, right? Yeah, my parents never let me go to them. And I’m pretty sure that traumatized me in many ways socially.

My parents were strict Cubans. English was their second language. They didn’t do the whole “build relationships” with your friends’ parents thing. They trusted know one else to care for their precious children except my mother. And while this appeared outlandish to my regular American white friends, my parents never caved; this typically resulted in me attending half of a sleepover, getting picked up super late (around 11 pm), arriving home in tears, and plotting my runaway plans for the next day. I’d show them!

Fast forward to my 47 year old self with an almost 7 year old. I must confess I am mainly the hostess of sleepovers, although my daughter has one close friend we trust with the tradition. And while she is too young for boy talk and frozen bras, the overall vibes are basically the same. Today it’s lots of YouTube watching, video gaming, junk food eating, and high-pitched screaming/laughing.

As a parent, I now see that my parents weren’t overprotective monsters after all. I mean, the 80s did spotlight the whole kid on the milk carton thing and America’s Most Wanted. Like most parents, they were doing what they thought was best, even if it meant not being liked for a short period of time after their decisions were made.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if my sleepover-less upbringing destroyed part of my social development. For example, I’ve never quite mastered the pillow fight. (I either come at you with the force of a sumo wrestler or with a missed opportunity for a hurting. There’s simply no in between.) I feel sleepovers could have honed in my oral storytelling skills significantly. I can start off telling what I believe is the funniest situation ever, and I somehow either overload the story with too much details and tangents, my listener is left confused and can only offer a mercy chuckle. I can’t unlearn this!

Dear reader, were sleepovers a part of your childhood? Please feel free to leave a comment or drop me a line at themidlife2021@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you.