My Not-So-Typical Growing Up Years

My growing up was not typical. It was my normal, so it never struck me as odd. Even when we'd laugh or talk about all the craziness that was always a part of my household, it was still simply my life -- my normal.

And, certainly some things were typical (or at least what should be typical -- in a good world). I played with siblings and neighbors, we went on family vacations (mostly to Bear Lake -- though I have vivid memories of a trip to Yellowstone and one to California), I was fed and clothed and cared for (though, perhaps I ran about the neighborhood a little more barefoot and ragga muffin looking than some of my friends' parents would have allowed), and most of all, I was loved -- there was never any doubt of that. I knew my parents somehow had me as a top priority and would drop anything on a second's notice if I needed.

It has only been recently, as I've grown accustomed to having a home and family all my own and realized how I like order and routine, that the uniqueness of my growing up years has really struck me as . . . well . . . just that -- unique. With that realization, the remarkableness of my parent's relaxed, open and flexible nature has truly begun to awe me.

First off, I grew up with ten other siblings in the house. One younger and nine of them older. True, with seven siblings who eventually served 1 1/2 to 2 year missions for our church, someone (pretty much from the time I was born) was always on a mission; and it wasn't long before the older siblings were getting married. This didn't necessarily decrease the number of individuals in our home, however, because during the rest of my growing up years and far beyond the time that I married, some married sibling or other (along with whatever children they'd collected by that time) lived in the "Grandfather Thatcher" apartment in our basement (in fact, Mike and I lived there with our own kids for several months). First it was Mark and then Tony. Soon Amy and then Tony again. My older siblings often seemed more like very close uncles and their kids like my younger siblings. I loved growing up with all of these little nieces and nephews in my home clamoring for my attention.

That alone made for quite a bustling household. I should also add that for some reason our house was one of the houses where friends congregated. I'm not sure why. There certainly weren't fun treats around to draw them in (in fact, we often lament growing up on powdered milk and laugh about my mom saying, "There's plenty of bread and butter," anytime we whined of wanting something to eat).

Perhaps it was the open and relaxed nature of a house full of so many people coming and going. Perhaps it was the spirit of the place, or, most likely, it was the fact that with so many siblings each bringing their own friends, it made for a nice socializing place where there was always bound to be something afoot. This might be proven by the fact that my own best friends know and are friends with many of my siblings' friends.

But, let's move on to who else lived at my house beyond that. When I was still quite young, my parent's heard of refugees coming to America. Apparently some families were so large that it was hard to accommodate them with out having to split them up. Having a large family herself, this made my mother heart sick, so what did she do? Well, she opened our already crowded home to TWO large refugee families. One Cambodian and one Laotian. They lived with us for months as they tried to find employment and housing, etc. I remember the gifts or fruit baskets they would bring to my parents each Christmas for years afterwards. There were also two single Vietnamese refugees. Vibol Tiem and Giang Hong. Giang (pronounced Yang) lived with us for I don't know how many years. He never learned to speak super English and would come and go quietly. He generally just slept happily in a sleeping bag in our basement family room. Having Giang there never seemed the least bit odd to any of us either. It just seemed a part of the normal daily course of things to see Giang quietly preparing himself a little Top Ramen and greeting us by name in his poor English.

We still aren't done. If ever anyone needed a place to stay, it was the open doors of my parent's home they came to. No one ever seemed to question whether or not it would be convenient or stressful for a friend to come live temporarily with us should the need arise (and somehow it often did). I honestly don't recall how several of the people came to live with us at all. There was my brother's friend Josh who lived with us for years (even after my brother was married and living far away), there was Kelly (my sister's best friend) who stayed just for a Summer while their new home was being finished. And then there was everything in between. I recall Mike Valear, Nancy Porter, Jason, Tami, and Chuck all staying for various lengths of time and for various reasons. I have probably forgotten some altogether (or simply neglected to mention those who only stayed for a week or so) but there they were -- just some of the daily background of my carefree little world. One particular Summer (shortly after my senior year of high school), two married siblings with kids were temporarily living with us as well as a family friend. It was so crowded that I didn't particularly have my own bed but just slept each night wherever my fancy took me -- on the deck, in the living room, in my dad's office. Oddly, that Summer is one of my fondest to look back on.

As I said, it is only now, that these living arrangements strike me as a-typical. What mostly amazes me is the generosity of my parents. Now that I have my own home and family, I can't imagine the stress it would place upon me to have even one extra soul living in my home. I would be tense about my routine being messed up, stressed about them feeling relaxed enough to eat when they wished, worried about making decent meals, worried about keeping order in my home. I would fret endlessly over the influence all these different friends might have on my children and worry about every possible situation, but my parent's must have just been blessed for their goodness because even the very oddest of friends that lived with us just seemed to add a merriment and little more shaking of heads in laughter to our household.

It is odd that I have hardly considered how much growing up in a home filled with so many varying needs, personalities and interests might have affected my own nature. I do know that I was painfully shy as a child. My dad used to worry a great deal over how I would cope with life out there in the real world, but I think those who know me now would find it difficult to believe that had ever been the case. Perhaps this large and wild home helped me (or maybe forced me) to overcome that tendency? I like to think that I can take different personalities -- and even eccentricities with a grain of salt and even enjoy them. I recall a co-worker at my first "real" job out of college conjecturing that I must have grown up with a lot of brothers because there was no other way to explain how I could joke and take teasing so naturally. If he only knew.

In any case, I am indeed grateful for the strange and enjoyable years of growing up as one of the many lucky ones to have lived under the loving roof of my amazing parents. I can hardly believe they were able to cope with it all, but I am exceedingly thankful for whatever experiences or insights it gave me as well as for the character traits it may have caused me to develop. But mostly, right now, I just feel happy about all of the interesting and fun memories it has provided for me. Thanks Mom and Dad for never saying, "That simply won't work," to all of the things so many (myself included) would have . . . I guess not least of all, for having a tenth child (and yes an eleventh because where would we be with out that one too?). What remarkable people and how many lives you have not simply influenced, but dug in with firm and practical resolve to truly help despite any inconvenience or difficulty.