My Tiny Home, Nerf & African Violets

Throughout the first decade of my life, not only did my family live in an apartment but we lived in a small apartment.  The total square footage of our apartment was 500 feet.  Today, if I lived in a 500 square foot home, I would be living in a tiny home.

And living in a tiny home would afford me the opportunity to puff out my chest and brag about being socially responsible and environmentally conscious.  However, in 1974, I had nothing to brag about and the only social statement my family could make was that we were poor.

Four people occupied the 500 foot, 2 bedrooms, and 1-bathroom apartment.  Mom and dad slept in the master bedroom (13’2” x 12’) and Kim and I shared the second bedroom (12’ x 9’).

I must admit that during those days, in the late 60s and early 70s, the future seemed bleak.  I was void of any reason to believe my family would experience any part of the American dream.  Even worse, back in those days, I feared I might have to share a room with my sister until we were both grown.

MOVIN’ ON UP

It wasn’t until the ninth year of my life that something which always seemed unimaginable happened.  In 1974, one year before George and Weezie moved on up, my family were first to move to the Eastside.  Unlike the Jefferson’s, we didn’t move into a deluxe apartment.  The Turner’s moved into our first home.

Moving day was surreal.  Even as we unloaded the moving truck, I couldn’t help but expect something to go wrong.  I had good reason to be doubtful about my family’s ability to leave our meager existence behind.  Because whenever it seemed some portion of our “American Dream” would be realized something always went wrong.

My family and I had been here before.  Prepared to move only to learn at the last minute that our entry into the ranks of those living the “American Dream” had been like many of our home loan requests – denied.

A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME

But this time was different.  We would not be staying in our tiny apartment.  We were homeowners.  More accurately, my parents were homeowners.  I was a broke nine-year-old.

Not only were there no last minute glitches this time but my family had actually managed to take one step closer to being among the few Americans who experience the fullness of the “American Dream”.  In hindsight, I now realize that instead of wondering whether or not we were really going to move, I should have been asking myself if we could actually afford to move?

You see after unloading the truck, I noticed that there was a whole lot more space in our new home than there was furniture to furnish our new home.  We had gone from a 500 square foot apartment to a 2,050 square foot home.  Regrettably, all of the empty space served as a constant reminder of just how poor we were.  We might have moved on up to the Eastside but we were unable to leave our Westside meager net worth or old stuff from our Westside apartment behind.

NERF BASKETBALL STADIUM

We had four times the space with furnishings for only one-quarter of the home.  Yet, somehow my parents were able to make most of the home appear normal – as in furnished.  A combination of the things we brought from the apartment and the industriousness of my father, who taught himself how to make furniture, went a long way to filling up the additional 1,500 square feet.

For the most part, our home looked like all the other homes in the neighborhood with one exception.  We had no dining room or living room furniture.  The two connected rooms were empty.  Sadly, my parents were unable to work their magic when it came to those two rooms.  The dining room and living room were so bare that if either of the rooms had been a person, both rooms would have been arrested for indecent exposure.

Nonetheless, for the first few years, I thought the empty rooms were unbelievably cool and so did my new friends.  Based on the amount of time my friends spent at my home, my home was clearly the center of the universe or the second best thing to Madison Square Garden.  My home was the only home with a basketball court.

I suspect in an effort to take the focus off the emptiness of the two rooms, my parents allowed me to put up the full court Nerf basketball hoop.  There was a goal on the furthest end of each room.  During the winter months, my friends and I played Nerf basketball to our hearts content.  We had a blast!

But as we got older, playing Nerf basketball in the house lost its charm and the unfurnished dining room and living room ceased to look like an indoor playground.  Instead, the unfurnished rooms looked identical to the rooms when we first moved.  The rooms looked like rooms that a family couldn’t afford to furnish.  The unfurnished rooms returned to being a reminder that we were poor.

THE TURNER GREENHOUSE

Once the Nerf Basketball League folded, instead of furniture, my parents, in particular, my father, outfitted the empty rooms with plants. There were plants of all species, types, and sizes.  There were plants from Aloe to Wild flowers.

And the plants grew in pots on the floor, soaked up sunlight on the window sill, and hung from the ceiling.  It was crazy how fast the Madison Square Garden of Nerf basketball had been transformed to what just might be the original urban indoor garden.

There was one particular plant that I remember more than any other plant – the African Violet.  The fact that the plant was named after the continent of Africa was particularly awesome.

I was encouraged each time I saw the African Violet.  Not only was it beautiful but it reminded me of the place I longed to go. We might have been too poor for me to be able to visit Africa but it was encouraging to have even the smallest piece of the Homeland in our house.

REPOTTING AFRICAN VIOLETS

As the years have passed, I’ve thought much less about the two empty rooms and more about the African Violets that populated nearly every corner of our home.  In retrospect, as a father, I now appreciate the African Violet so much more because its growth is analogous to the maturation of children.

Just like children, the African Violet seemed to grow exceptionally fast.  As I remember, it appeared like my father was constantly repotting the African Violets.  One day, there was a leaf soaking in water to stimulate the growth of roots.  The next day, the leaf had grown into a small plant.  And a few days later, that same little plant had outgrown its pot and needed to be repotted in a larger pot.

Parenting is so very similar.  One day our children are figurative African Violet leaves trying to establish their own roots.  The next day, they are toddler plants.  And before long, they are full grown adult plants.

The challenge that parents face which my father seemed to master with the African Violets is to know when to repot.  Repotting is both necessary and symbolic for growth.  In order for the African Violet to grow to its potential, it had to be repotted.  In order for your child to reach their full potential they also have to be repotted continuously.

YOUR CHILD THE REPOTTED AFRICAN VIOLET

Too often children are afraid to try something different because its new.  Routinely children talk themselves out of a great opportunity because it requires being uprooted from their old environment.  By the way, if my memory serves me correctly, the most beautiful African Violet in our home was the large plant that had been repotted over and over again.

Being repotted means that as a parent, we cannot allow our fears, prejudices, or other shortcomings to stagnate our children’s growth.  Being repotted means that parents must not only allow but that we must strongly encourage our children to regularly move out of their old pot – their all too familiar comfort zone.

BLOSSOM AND GROW

Now is the time for more parents to be what my father – the amateur botanist – was for the African Violets.  It’s time for all parents to be equally committed to making sure that all children exist in a world that encourages mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual growth.

If we can do this, all any parent will have to do is what my father did for the African Violets – watch his plants take root, blossom, and consistently repot them early and often.

Are you encouraging your child to grow and blossom by taking chances and by doing the unfamiliar?  Or are you stagnating your child’s growth by making them remain in their same old small pot?