I'm not in a position to talk about what life was like in the sixties. By the time they were over, I was only a wee four-year-old. But, ask me about my take on life in the seventies and eighties, and I can talk a blue-streak.
From a child's eyes, life in the seventies and eighties doesn't reflect the 'grown-up' version of what the world was like. However, barring the childhood memories, most of which were very happy, I DO remember some of the things that weren't so great...
Like what? Gas lines. My Dad working three jobs to keep things afloat-barely. Very ugly clothes. Toughskin jeans in "husky" when I was in my chubby stage. My sister wore "slim fit" Toughskins, which didn't make it any easier on my ego. I remember running out of heating oil one winter for a brief period and my family slept in the living-room with the oven heat from the kitchen to keep us warm. Thank God it was only for one night. Those times, although buffered by the love, caring and concern of my parents, were tough times. I'm sure they were more difficult on my parents. After all, they were the ones who wondered, "How are we going to keep the three girls warm?" I can't imagine the stress.
I am part of the TV generation. Most of us who grew up in the seventies and eighties were. My first recollections of TV are Mr. Rogers, Sesame Street, Zoom, Saturday morning cartoons, After School Movies, The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, The Love Boat, Star Trek, and "Conjunction-junction, what's your function?" (I'm still not clear on that one, other than the rest of the catchy tune: "...Making up words and turning them into sentences.")
I was a kid in the seventies and FELT like a kid in the seventies. I never felt forced to grow up and was still playing with Barbie Dolls at age ten. I also believed in Santa, too. (Truth be known, I still believe in Santa and I'm now entering my fourth decade...)
Eight track tapes were big in my household, at least in my older sister's room where I got my first taste of Billy Joel, Elton John, Boston, ELO, Fleetwood Mac, Styx, Led Zeppelin and more. My older sister, by about five years, introduced me to a world of music that stepped outside of my parents love for Neil Diamond belting out "Sweet Caroline"- and many more artists ranging from the 1940's/50's up to the seventies.
Actually, I liked just about all music back then, and still do today.
I digress.
In 1976 I was ten-years-old and this country, the USA, celebrated its 200th anniversary. I recall parades in the center of the small town I grew up in and rootbeer flavored candy being thrown to the kids by grown ups on floats. There was a lot of red, white and blue, and a special quarter came out to commemorate the year. I've still got some of those kicking around. I also developed a great fear of swimming in the ocean after getting the crap scared out of me by a monstrous shark named JAWS. The annual trip to Connecticut to see my grandmother that year was tainted by my belief that JAWS was real. So, I was quite reluctant to swim at the beach down the end of her street. Bummer of a Summer.
In 1979, my older sister graduated high school - I was in the seventh grade. My younger sister was still in the 'little kid' school, being a little less than two years younger than I. My town was so small, (How small? Four-square miles, population 5,000), that we had a Jr./Sr. Highschool, two elementary schools & one small pharmacy. Anyway, us pip-squeaks in the junior high part of the building felt like goofs when walking down the halls of the high school part of the building. High school kids were so much 'cooler', and it felt like they wanted to step on us... like we were annoying, little bugs. Perhaps we were. I couldn't wait to be one of those high school people. How great it would be. How COOL it'd be.
Boy. What I was thinking?
To be continued....
I guess it's been a while since I continued this rambling about being born in the 60's. I've been rather busy keeping up with my MiscarriageHelp.com blog- the support/companion site to my book on miscarriage, I Never Held You.
In reading what I wrote back in 2006, I realize that our generation, those born in the 1960's, are an in-between group. Tweenies, I guess. (That's the official name for my Dachshund, and it applies to us, too). We are not baby-boomers, and we're not Generation X. What are we? We're the first generation in history to have it worse than our parents did at our age. Think about it. When you were, let's say 23, were you able to buy a house? Most of us weren't. The ones who could were doing very well.
We are also the generation that started the whole 'latchkey kid' thing. I remember my mother began working when I was twelve. I was certainly old enough to come home after school on my own with my younger sister to look after for less than an hour. My mother was usually home by around three or so. But, in the seventies/early eighties, many homes became two-working parent families. There just wasn't enough butter for the bread.
Things haven't changed much. People who can afford to have families today with one parent staying home are very fortunate- if that's what they want. I see my younger sister and her husband bust their butts to provide for my six-year-old niece and 3-and-a-half-year-old nephew. They both work very hard- my sister being in real estate so she's got some flexibility. It's seems the only way to manage everything: the kids, the money, the house, having a life.
Just like my sister and her husband are working hard to support their family, so did my parents. In the sixties and seventies, my father worked three jobs. That continued, even when my mother started working part time. They still work all the time, but don't have us to feed and clothe!
Those of us born in the sixties also see a 50% divorce rate as 'normal'. How sad! I'm one of them. A statistic. A number. I'm divorced. I didn't get married to get divorced, it's just how everything played out. Matter of fact, I was so into the whole commitment thing, I didn't want a divorce- even though the relationship had failed. I thought I'd be a failure if I got divorced.
I
've learned that I am not a failure because I am divorced. I didn't choose to leave, fought for the relationship, and also see I was fighting for something that was very unhealthy. I've learned, and that's probably because I was born in the 1960's and have had time to think about this, that I am not responsible for another's happiness. I can try to make them happy. I can be a nice, decent, caring human being. But, if someone is unhappy on the inside, only they can pull themselves out of it. Of course they can get help. They can do anything necessary to change their thinking and become a happy person. What I'm saying is you can't walk someone else's walk. You can't dig into someone's mind and make it the way you want it to be. As heartbreaking as it is, it's a fact.
All you can do is think positive thoughts, pray (if you do so), and leave it to the Universe, (God), to take care of. It's not easy, but what else can you do? You are ONE person, and it can be tough enough managing your own self.
The economy basically stunk when I was a kid. It stinks again. Everything runs in cycles, and I suppose this is just another one of those things. The reasons are different, but we're living in a tough time economically. I drive a 99 Jetta, new body style, 6 cyl. It costs me roughly $34.00 to fill her up. Can you believe it? AND, I can only use premium gas because that's what the engine calls for. So, not only do I buy the most expensive gas, I do it for a car that only gets 13-16.5 miles per gallon! It fluxuates, and I have no idea why. (Believe me, it's been in the shop enough and if there were an answer, I'd have it).
Well, that's all for now because I've got to get some work done! It was great talking to you all. Thanks for reading my recollections and rants!
Peace,
Ellen
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