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But the reality of it all is that life was seldom like we saw it through that television screen. In high school I had a social studies teacher named Mrs. Stevens. She made a statement one day that I've remembered for forty years. She posed this question. "What do you think is the cause of most of the unhappiness of children in the home today"? Students raised their hands and suggested that it might be strict parents, too much homework, or siblings! All of those things surely caused problems, but she believed that television shows like Ozzie & Harriet, or Leave it to Beaver were the cause. How could that be? Didn't they portray the perfect American family? Exactly! The cause for unhappiness in children was believing that ALL American families were like that. So what if theirs wasn't like that television family? Then there must be something wrong with them.

Let's take a look at the childhood of Wally and Beaver Cleaver. Their mother, June, was always there to send them off to school, and she was there when they came home. Their friends were welcome in their home and actually enjoyed being there. June fixed lunches, cleaned house, and prepared dinner. When Ward got home, they all sat down together to eat, and they talked about their day. June and Ward were respectful of one another and were united in their parenting. When Wally or Beaver got into trouble with some childhood prank, Ward would talk to them, help them understand why what they did was wrong, and then give them a hug or a manly pat on the back to let them know everything was okay between them. Even though Beaver was younger than Wally and often got in his way, Wally was always there to be the big brother and protect The Beav. It's no wonder they were happy. Life was good and no one ever felt unloved.

When I was growing up in the 60s, life was nothing like this tv family I adored. I had a mother in my home, but it wasn't my own mother. It was my dad's second wife. She might be asleep when I left for school, but she was always there to open the door when I got home. My father traveled all week so I only saw him on the weekend, and then, he hid out in his study. We did have dinner together and there was conversation but it didn't include my sister or me. Instead of inviting other kids to our home, I always went to theirs. My step mother wasn't any friendlier to my friends than she was to me, and if she was drinking, it could get ugly. When I got into trouble, which seemed often, instead of trying to reason with me, she screamed and was so threatening that I just wanted to get away from her. I found comfort being in my room alone and enjoyed reading novels that told the stories of other young girls. When things got to be just impossible for all of us, I left home at the start of my senior year. I was only 16 years old, and when I left, no one really seemed to care. We decided it was probably best for all of us.

I always thought I had the most horrible childhood, but looking back, it could have been a lot worse. I might have felt emotionally abused, but I was never physically or sexually abused. As much as my father was absent from my life, he provided a nice home and we never went to bed hungry. As difficult as it was to live with my step mother, she was a very good housekeeper, she kept my clothes clean, and actually learned to be a good cook. Things definitely could have been worse, and as I have matured, I have learned to focus more on the things I'm grateful for than the things that caused such pain.

My kids tell me I'm pretty "normal" or perhaps "well adjusted," all things considered. Unfortunately, as unhappy as children are with their environment, they will often grow up to be just like their parents. I made a conscious decision when I left home at sixteen that I would NOT raise my children in that same environment. I may not be the perfect mother, but I've been there to listen to my kids and help them make the right decisions. I worked outside the home most of their lives, but it worked for us. They had responsibilities and they learned to work. We had dinner together at home and we talked. Some of my favorite memories are of sitting around the kitchen table, long after the food had been eaten, just talking, laughing, and listening. Much of my healing came from being able to laugh and give my children the things I had so desperately needed.

If you're bitter about not growing up in a perfect world, then let me ask you this: What are you doing to make life better for your children? Are you perpetuating the unhappiness you felt as a child, or are you willing to turn it around? It's all about making a conscious choice.

So...do you want to remain bitter, or become better?