About Me
Wendy www.wendy7771.com
I was born in a small Midwestern town where
everyone either knows everyone else,
or are related to each other in some way.
Loosely translated, my mom knew about my first
kiss before I had the chance to enjoy it
much.
In a little town like that, "The Night Has
A Thousand Eyes"
was
far more than
just a song.
I was an only child but I still looked around when
the question came up, "OK, who did THAT ?"
Unfortunately for me though, it was merely a rhetorical
question because not having any siblings to
blame,
the whole "who
did that?" question was a moot point.
It had to be me.
A product of the fifties, I remember when we got tax
stamps for sales taxes we paid on purchases
and
those wonderful trading stamps we saved to
redeem
for premiums at the
I was the president of the Kukla, Fran and Ollie fan club
in my neighborhood, and
I loved to tie a black belt around
my forehead and pretend to be
Princess WinterFallSummerSpring
(or was it SummerFallWinterSpring)
of Howdy Doody fame.
The kids in the neighborhood used to gather at my house
for pogo sticking, stilt walking and hours
of hide- and –go- seek.
We played Ditch 'em, on bikes, kick
the can and
statue tag until it got so dark that every
porch light
on the block flickered on and off,
the international parent signal for
"time to come home."
We had back yard carnivals and sold lemonade
from card table stands in our front yards.
My early teen years were filled with friends, parties,
sleep overs, and
the traditional Friday night
football games.
The British Invasion began around the time I was
in Junior High, and my parents were sure it was the
end of civilized music (if not civilization itself).
Mom and Dad made sure I was
exposed to the "greats" like Jolson,
Dorsey, Gershwin,
Miller
(both Glen
and Mitch) and the "real" music of
all the big bands.
We laughed at Jackie Gleason, learned about life
with Donna Reed, found out that Father Knows
Best
and we all Love Lucy to this day.
The good guys always wore white hats, the bad guys
wore black, and Johnny Uma
was a Rebel.
Roy Rogers had Trigger, the Lone Ranger had Silver
and wasn't really "lone" because Tonto was there
right
by his side through thick and thin.
We took the Captain's
word for it on the issue of
Mr. Green Jeans, because
our TV's were
strictly
black and white.
The
and
the cold war was a hot issue.
Drive in movies were in
fashion,
McDonalds was just a
"fad" and
Bozo was really a clown.
Gay meant happy, making
love meant kissing
and
hugging and sex was not a school subject.
Saturday afternoon movies
were a dime,
and
there was always a cartoon.
There were no seat belts
in the cars, hand signals
involved
arm motion (not just one finger)
and
the wildest thing I ever saw a postal worker do
was
hopscotch over our sidewalk game.
Panty hose hadn't been
invented so garter
belts
weren't one of
they
were necessary to keep nylons up.
Beatniks were the
alternative life “stylers”,
and
beehives were hair styles.
Jackie O was Jackie K and no one had ever
heard of a home computer.
Home permanents were
permanent disasters,
hair
spray was sticky and Evening In
was
a high ticket fragrance.
Blondes lived in
were boys, surfing was done on a board in
the
ocean
and the net was something my
grandmother
wore
to keep her hair in place.
Gross meant a dozen
-dozen, milk came in
glass
bottles, and bread was delivered to the door.
We started the school day
with the Pledge and a prayer
and
ended it glued to American Bandstand.
I was in seventh grade
study hall when President Kennedy
was
shot and in the auditorium with the rest of the student
body
when John Glen went up (the first time)
watching on a special television.
Jean Shrimpton was the
model we most wanted to
look
like and Michael Landon hadn't had his ears done yet.
Dale Evan's book,
"Angels Unaware" made my mother
cry
and "Imitation of Life", made everyone cry.
We sat through "
of
the bad word, and snickered like
crazy when we
found
out what it meant.
Trick or Treater’s were allowed to eat
homemade
goodies without fear, and we all received polio
vaccine.
Most of us Baby Boomers still have the little holes in our
upper arms from our small pox vaccinations.
Our childhoods were
robbed of a certain innocence
by
Such are the memories of
a baby boomer who was a
child
of the 50's and is now 50 something.
I have children and
grandchildren of my own now.
My grand kids have no
knowledge of what a 45 record
is
about and have never used a record player.
They have never seen a
phone with a dial, a television
without
a remote control and have never known a world
without
personal computers or space exploration.
Sadly, they live in a
world where it isn't always safe to play
out
doors after dark or eat popcorn balls from Halloween bags.
Sadly too, their parents
must monitor their television
viewing,
the music they listen to, and deal with the
prospect
of the violence that plagues our
communities
and our schools.
Not long ago, our nation faced one of the most tragic
and horrific events in our history, Our children
watched as the tragedy unfolded on television,
not once,
not twice, but continuously for days on end. It
can still be seen today on at least one channel at almost
any time of the day or night.
How can we or they, recover from what has
been replayed like a recurring nightmare
each day in our homes?
We can recover and we must recover.
We must muster the strength and intestinal
fortitude that our ancestors brought with
them when they forged this great country.
There is a difference between recovery and
forgetting. We will recover, we will never forget.
I'd like to think that
the generations produced
by
fellow baby boomers will one day look back
fondly
on their early days and share
wonderful
memories too. Maybe they will...
…Maybe they will.
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