BOOMER DAYS

In the future, a youngster will ask for my assistance with a class project involving the question: What was life like when you were a little girl?  I assume the student will have the ability to  turn me into a hologram so I can appear directly in front of the classmates to regale them with delightful stories of my youth. Naturally, I'll want to be the most popular old-lady hologram in that 3rd grade class, so I will need to provide information they could never find in their history books. Since it's never too early to prepare for such a lofty goal,  I've already begun writing my presentation. Dear Class of 2053: You aren't going to believe this, but....

We used to burp our food storage containers. In order to preserve freshness, it was vital that the bowl achieve a good belch before placing it in the refrigerator.  We  had training sessions disguised as "parties" where we learned proper air-release techniques as well as the unique usage for every container in the collection. A well-stocked kitchen had a special cabinet reserved just for these burpables. Sadly, with the arrival of zip locks, twist ties, and tossables, yet another valuable skill was lost to technology.

Burping classes

 One of the items on our elementary-school supply list was an empty cigar box.  It was just assumed that every household had an adult (male) who enjoyed a good smoke on the regular. If your own father didn't indulge, it was a sure bet that a grandfather or uncle could cough up (no pun intended) the goods. These were placed in our desks to hold things called #2 pencils, completely worthless "child-sized" scissors,  and comically-large erasers that removed errors by pulverizing the paper. 

School supply lists: Brought to you by Big Tobacco

We were terrified of abandoned refrigerators.  Back in those days, it was common to leave broken appliances in the back yard until such time as the local junk man would come around to help dispose of it.  Of course, if you couldn't afford to pay the junk man, dumping that old wringer washer, broken toilet, or beaten-down car in the nearby woods was a great option!  Unfortunately, some children saw those things as toys. After 39 children suffocated while playing in empty refrigerators between 1954 and 1956, Congress created The Refrigerator Act of 1956. Along with some new rules regarding refrigerator doors, a batch of PSAs were sent over the airwaves to make sure we children were sufficiently frightened of the old "ice boxes" and freezers that littered the backyards and play areas of our youth. They worked. Old fridges became the equivalent of Pennywise. 

Omitted from the warning: "Particularly when armed with an AR-15." 

Playgrounds were designed to maim. In those days, traumatic injury while in the act of play was thought to build character. The see-saw of the 50's and 60's was one long splinter and a favorite of the bullies. They would lure a small child to the "teeter-totter," use their weight to elevate the opposite end, then leap off so the raised side came crashing to the ground.  "HAHA! Cherry bomb!" the deviants would declare. Since tattling and running home crying to our mothers was against playground code, most of us grew up with undiagnosed tailbone injuries. And don't get me started on the 3rd degree burns the  gigantic aluminum slides produced. We always forgot that the metal contraption had been quietly absorbing the Summer sun and had achieved the same surface temperature as Venus. Every single time, we'd make the dramatic climb to the top, get to the platform designed for a size 1 shoe, then contort our bodies into a sitting position so our bare legs were pressed firmly against the poker-hot slide. Because there were always half-a-dozen sliders on the ladder behind us, we had no choice but to push off and slide. You knew us by the bright red burns on the back of our thighs.

No chance of traumatic head injury or broken femur with this contraption.

Apples had worms.  We  recognized that a worm had taken up residence in an apple by the tell-tale hole on the exterior skin. The more pampered children had mothers who carefully sliced the apple to make sure they only ingested in the non-infested portion. The rest of us had to fend for ourselves and learned, at an early age, to eat around any brown, mushy portion. If the worm was still present in the apple, there was no need for high drama. The general rule allowed for a short shriek or a loud "Ew!" before tossing the offending piece of fruit on the ground. Speaking of which.....

Still edible.

....We tossed trash everywhere.  Done with your wormy apple? Throw that core in the grass. Just finished a cold beer while driving down the interstate? Send that can flying out the car window. Candy bar wrapper?Leave it to its final resting place on a public sidewalk.  We were so nasty about our trash, that a public service campaign was necessary in order to prevent our streets and lawns from turning into landfills. "Please, please don't be a litterbug!" went the jingle.  Suddenly, this casual tossing of the stuff was a huge scandal. We were compared to barn animals. We made a Native American (actually an Italian actor, but that's a story for another blog post) shed a single, lengthy tear at the sight of all the garbage piled along waterways and curbsides. "Keep America Beautiful!" we were told. We sort of did. But, then, along came McMansion-filled suburbs, strip malls, and six-lane highways lined by fast-food joints, 

"I'm actually Italian. I'm only crying because you all have an Olive Garden on every corner." 

Hitchhiking was a thing. In those days, it was considered a legitimate means of getting from one place to another, particularly if you were a teenaged boy. It wasn't until the mid-70's that we were treated to propaganda that convinced us that only ax murderers put a thumb out for a ride. By the same token, we were led to believe that only an ax murderer would pick up an innocent hitchhiker. Why? Those needing a ride started to find one on the massive new highway systems. Walking the narrow berm alongside four lanes of traffic moving at over 60 MPH created a danger to the ride-seeker as well as cars approaching a vehicle that might pull over for a hiker. Some States even outlawed the practice, but all under the guise of protecting us all from murderous fiends. And you think the internet is bad with fake news? 

A friend of my cousin's next door neighbor's aunt's sister-in-law's teacher's nephew's best friend was murdered while hitching a ride! 

As you can see, Class of 2053, we were careless back in our day. We tempted fate. We did not worry a whole lot about the future. But, we sure did have fun. Here's hoping you get to do the same.

What? Me have regrets?