Skip to main content

Roll Back

Because my parents were married for more than a decade before they had children, I knew they were older than most. While other kids in my neighborhood had moms and dads celebrating their 35th and 40th birthday, my folks were in their late 40s and 50s respectively. Being older, they had a bit more history under their belts. In fact, they married in the big middle of the Great Depression. So the story goes, an elderly aunt gave the the green light because, in her view, things weren't going to get better for a good while, so they might just as well find something to celebrate. Sounds familiar.
Now and then we'd get my dad talking about life in his childhood and adolescence. It was interesting to hear the price of a loaf of bread, the limited opportunities for transportation, and what a typical day without television or a car was like. New Yorkers got on quite well with public transit. If we really pushed it, we'd get him talking about the kinds of penny candy he sold in their little combo soda fountain/grocery store. I find myself in that position today when I talk to my niece's kids or even some of the young teachers I supervise. When I tell them my first year's salary (well under 15k) or how copies were typed and made with a ditto machine, they marvel. Still, they can only imagine the hours put in then. When I pay $4. for a gallon of gas or $2.50 for a quart of milk, I can only wonder what happened? The other day I took my niece's 9 year old to the store in my truck. Believe it or not, it still has roll down windows. This child had never been in a vehicle that had anything other than electric windows. When she looked miffed after trying to find the button to roll down the window, I had to demonstrate how it was done. She was enthralled. "That's so cool," she said. I've noticed that many childhood candy bars are now gone. No more Powerhouse. No more Hollywood bar or Milkshake. Hershey Kisses come in all sorts of flavors too. The 5 or 10 cent candy bar has been downsized for $1.50. Like shopping malls, the stores are full of the same things mostly. Nothing lasts forever. A price, a brand name, a window crank or even a birthday.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...