I seem to be in a nostalgic mood lately.
Growing up in the 70s was great. I’m not even talking about the movies and music from that era, although we had some darn fine ones, have to admit.
Unfortunately, we had some monstrously bad ones too. Muskrat Love, anyone?Embed from Getty Images
No, what I’m talking about is the total lack of parental supervision we had. Even if a parent stayed home, they pretty much left us to our own devices. It was great.
Brother and I had it even better, as both Older Sisters and Older Brother had left the house. We’re talking complete lack of supervision, baby! Frankly, it’s a wonder we didn’t burn the whole place down.
We came close, though … Continue reading “My Glorious Summer of ’76”
Last week’s post got me to thinking about some of the weird things we come up with as children and what we fervently believe to be true. I’m sure we drove adults crazy with all our questions, but somehow we still managed to think up some pretty wild stuff on our own. Of course, sometimes the reason we came up with the wild stuff is because we were trying to make sense of what adults told us in the first place.
Here are some of the things I remember believing with all my heart and soul.
Don’t judge me. Continue reading “10 Things I Believed Were True as a Child”
Back when I was 9 years old, I devised a foolproof survival plan in the event of a home invasion. It was a masterpiece. It took into account every eventuality.
Mind you, my neighborhood was not an especially dangerous one. It’s not like there were reports of these things happening to our friends or relatives. To my knowledge there hadn’t been so much as a bike stolen off a porch, so I’m not sure why I thought there was a need for a plan. Maybe I saw something in a movie or TV show? In any case, if it ever did happen to us, I was prepared.
Continue reading “How to Survive a Home Invasion — According to a Nine-Year-Old”
My second year of college I took an evening class in writing. From what I remember there were only about a dozen of us in the class, including the teacher. It was called “Writing for Publication,” or something hopeful like that. We were young. We didn’t know any better.
The class was taught by a middle-aged woman who had some success in getting published. Her big claim to fame was getting an article published in one of the airline magazines. We were in awe.
Also, she wore the same green shoes to every class. I’m not sure why I bring that up. It’s just something I remember.
Anyway, every week we had to present something we wrote, read it in front of the entire class, and then listen to everyone’s comments. Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Writers live by a code. If I say nice things about the crap you write, then you have to say nice things about the crap I write.
Continue reading “I Never Claimed to Be Erma Bombeck”