Speakingout
I love it when my children are working on a school assignment - and I'm actually able to help them out!
Growing up in the 60s was 'neat-o' 060210 SPEAKINGOUT 2 Capital City Weekly I love it when my children are working on a school assignment - and I'm actually able to help them out!
Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Story last updated at 6/2/2010 - 12:14 pm

Growing up in the 60s was 'neat-o'

I love it when my children are working on a school assignment - and I'm actually able to help them out!

This happened to me last week when my daughter needed to know about my life in the 60s for her college anthropology course.

For those of you about my age - I just turned 50 - I thought it might be fun to share some of my recollections with you. Maybe they'll help prompt your own memories of life in the 60s so that you can share them in turn with your own family.

Here they are a few of them, just as they popped into my mind:

Dad worked. He carried a metal lunchbox that held a Thermos inside. It clasped shut with two metal clips. His sandwiches were wrapped in waxed paper.

Mom stayed home, as did most of my friends' moms. She took me to the library and introduced me to the love of reading and the comforting smell of books. She, as with most of her friends, got their hair set on Fridays.

My friends and I rode Schwinn bicycles with banana seats. We did not have helmets. We doubled up on the seats. If we sat in the rear, we held on to our friend's waist or gripped the bar behind us - also known as a sissy bar - and held our legs out to avoid getting our pants caught in the sprocket. We attached baseball cards to our spokes with clothespins. This made motor sounds which, to use a common phrase taken from "The Courtship of Eddie's Father," one of my favorite TV shows, were "neat-o."

The neighborhood belonged to all the kids. We rode circles in each others' driveways and climbed front yard trees. Our favorites were the Tarzan trees; I'll let you figure out which variety those were, but it shouldn't be too hard to guess.

We played outside all day until our moms stuck their heads out the door and called us in for supper.

Dad always said grace before we ate; it was so comforting to hear his voice, meal after meal. I peeked to make sure my sister -- seven years older than I - had her eyes closed. Bread and butter were always served with our meals. No one left the table until everyone had finished.

My sister and I cleared the table and did the dishes; she washed and rinsed, I dried and put them away. My friends had to sit on our porch and wait for us to finish before we could come out to play.

Is there a special dad in your life you'd like to honor? I'd love to include your tributes in upcoming June columns. Reach me at littlepencilwriting@gmail.com.

Judy A. Halone may be reached at littlepencilwriting@gmail.com.