My Own Room

It is early July 1976. I am 18 years-old living in Montreal. It is the summer Olympics in Montreal and the city is abuzz. I have gone to a couple of events, a soccer game and the decathlon but my mind now is not on the Olympics. My grandmother (my Bubbie) just passed away a week ago and I am sad and in a bit of shock. I see the sadness in my mother’s eyes. We live in a 3-bedroom apartment. I share a room now with my younger brother as my two older brothers have moved out. For 18 years I have never had my own room, sharing bunk beds with my three brothers. I now have the opportunity to have my own room, my Bubbie’s room. Her room is beside the washroom and a door that leads to the balcony. Her bed takes up her whole room except for a small chest of drawers with a tiny black and white TV on top. I feel both weird and excited. As I lie in her bed on the first night many thoughts go through my head. What did she think about while alone in her bed? Was she thinking of Odessa, Russia where she was born, coming to Canada, having children? 

Fast forward August 2007. My first child is born, a daughter and we are bringing her home. She is coming home to her own room in our house. Her room is decorated with Snoopy wallpaper. I am proud she has her own room and hope she grows to appreciate what she has. The moment is recreated in July 2009 when my second daughter is born. She also is brought home to her own room.

Today I laugh when I am reminded by each of them “Daddy, knock before you come into my room”. I am filled with gratitude that my kids have their own room and think about how far I have come from the days of sharing bunk beds with my three brothers.