Do Not Enter!
My daughter and I have already decided that my son did not live here. He grew up on a Martian spaceship somewhere and returned home at some later date with occasional visits here and there. He and I (and his sister) remember things way too differently about their upbringing.
In my upbringing, I deeply resented the fact my father and stepmother did not respect my privacy. They would wait until I was out of the house and then toss my room looking for things to reprimand me over.
As a result of my shoddy upbringing, I’ve always tried to respect my children’s privacy. From the time my son was about five and onward for a couple of years, I was not allowed to enter his bedroom. It was a “no-girl-zone.” I didn’t even peek in there.
My husband was the only one allowed to be in there so I left it to him to keep up with our son’s bedroom. He did, too. There were several times I can recall just he and my son going to his room for several minutes at a time. I wasn’t allowed to tuck him in at night, only his dad was because that would mean I would have to go into his bedroom.
A couple of years later, my sister, who had been living with us for several years, came to me and said, “Well, you don’t ever have to worry about whether or not Reese is going to be gay.”
“Why is that?” I asked, mildly curious.
“C’mere,” she said, leading the way to his room. She opened his bedroom door and said, “This is why.”
From wall-to-wall and ceiling-to-floor he had supermodel posters all over. Apparently, father and son were going to Walmart, picking up girly posters, then coming home and hanging them up in his bedroom.
That was why I wasn’t allowed to go in there. My son did not want me to know about his posters. It was during this time he lived on the Martian spaceship only returning home occasionally to visit with his parents (and apparently to go to Walmart, buy more posters and hang them on his wall).