Our Gilded Age of Growing Up

It was brief, as all childhoods are.  I think the first thing I remembered was watching JFK’s funeral with Mom, during the day.  I’d just turned five and was devastated by the loss of our President and remember being given the book “Four Days” which I cherished for years.

Mom vacuumed the house in a dress and heels.  When we were a bit older we went with her every Saturday when she got her hair “done” and we went to ballet lessons a couple of blocks away.  We took group ballet lessons, separately, my sister and I. But we took individual piano lessons Wednesday afternoons, and I took violin as well.

We had the “job jar” on weekends, which was a Chock-Full-of-Nuts can filled with chores.  We occasionally traded them but mainly learned to “work” them between parents.

We didn’t realize it at the time but for a few years we were living in Nirvana, 25 acres  of land with our own natural gas well, septic tank (luckily we finally found it), and gas pump.  Yes, at age eight I was pumping gas for Mom.  And riding a Toro with two gears!  Believe me, now I’d have to ask Jim how to run that Toro.

It was the sixties and we were square as could be.  Dad had the skinny ties, near buzz cut and hat.  We had to wear a dress or skirt and blouse to school, even though all the other students were allowed to wear pants.

Every few weeks we’d get to go out to dinner and I remember one Italian place down in the village, Chimeras, that had electric bowling (I was always good at that) or Schnitzelbank, a German restaurant up in the hills that we loved.

I found a song today that Dad used to sing, in German, Du, Du Liegst Mir Im Herzen but will try that when I can play the chords and sing at the same time, while reading German.  Sort of like walking and chewing gum at the same time.

We didn’t lock our doors or our car.  Until I was eight our neighbor was paid to walk us to school but then we were on our own.  We’re still in touch with those same neighbors nearly 40 years since we moved away.

That’s small town life, and life in the early sixties, homemade dinner and dessert every night.  Who could argue with that?  Cheers, Dee