Incoherent Scribblings

Tears on the Wall Paper

The living room of the house where I spent the majority of my childhood (4-11) was a monster of a room. It had once been two rooms, but when we re-modeled it due to a collapsed ceiling that was a direct result of an overflowing toilet, my dad decided to tear out the dividing wall and make it one room. Even though there was no longer a wall, in essence it remained two rooms; with the seldom-used pool table at one end and the “TV corner” at the other. There was an arched entryway into the dining room and a corner just big enough for a little girl to stand in.

I like to think that overall I was a good little girl. However, I did have my naughty and mischievous moments, which usually caused some harm (mental or physical) to my little sister. It was at those times that, after a pop on the butt, my mom would send me to the corner of the dining room entryway to “think about” what I had done.

When I had to stand in the corner, there was no specific time stated, nor was it called a “Time Out.” It was “Standing in the Corner” and since Mom only sent me to the corner when she was really mad it was truly the punishment I feared most of all. I was required to stand there and face the wall until Mom was good and ready to let me come out.

I think I always went to the corner sobbing. First I would bawl because of the pop my butt had received, but once the sting wore off, I would cry at the injustice that I felt was being done to me. I wasn’t allowed to sit, so my little legs would quickly get tired of standing still and even though the TV was opposite my corner, I couldn’t watch it; only hear what was going on. I would never have thought that just hearing the TV would be such torture, but it was! I don’t really know how long I stood in the corner on average. It was probably only a few minutes, but to me it seemed like hours!

When I was 11, we moved out of that house and into a big farm house in the country. By then I hadn’t stood in that corner for quite some time, but I clearly remember bidding that corner with its tear-stained wall paper good riddance and hoping that the new house didn’t have such a “convenient” place for badly-behaved girls to stand.