Back when a good tan meant baby oil...
There are a lot of really great things about living in the 21st century, but then, there's a lot of really sucky things. We know too much.
Like you can't go to Jones Beach and slather on Baby Oil to get a tan. I can still remember the wonderful smells of sea salt and oil co-mingling in the air. Lying there with one eye open scoping out the guys...who were NOT wearing speedos. Thank god. Blaring your own personal portable radio (no headphones) while every other group on the sand did the same. Ronstadt on the left, Skynard on the right. No cellphones. No iPods. Running up to the concession to find a pen to write down a phone number on the back of some guy's hand. Knowing they wouldn't call, but you waited by the phone anyway. Next time you ran into him, he'd say it got washed off. Nowadays you'd pull out your iPhone and run a background check first.
Can't have a slice of Pizza and a Coke either. It's pretty much suicide food.
Instead, try a healthy chicken wrap and bottled water. Yum.
There used to be this little candy store a few blocks from my elementary school. They had those wax mustaches and bottles with the colored liquid. Pixie Sticks and Licorice. Bubble Gum that cost a penny. Red Hot Fireballs. And my favorite, Mary Janes. You could bring your pennies and nickels and buy a bagful. Now they only have that stuff at the mall. You have to buy it buy the pound, and who would let their kids eat that stuff anyway. I think about this everytime I watch my husband down a full bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. He obviously hasn't quite caught up with the new diet revolution. Then again, he doesn't need to. Good genes. At least we all hope so.
Obviously we've learned quite a bit over the years and if we knew then, what we know now....well our collective childhood would have been different. Would have been more like what our own kids' experienced. But there's something pretty wrong with that because really, for me, childhood was all about being invincible. Eat those cookies. Skate on the not quite frozen pond. Climb that really old tree. "Look Mom, no hands!" was a rallying cry. I learned to ski, skate, sail and swim. We cruised the Miracle Mile just like the song. Played practical jokes. Made Crank Calls. Damn the consequences. All in all, we survived, and for the most part, turned out just fine.
Once in awhile, I just wish we didn't know so much.
Like you can't go to Jones Beach and slather on Baby Oil to get a tan. I can still remember the wonderful smells of sea salt and oil co-mingling in the air. Lying there with one eye open scoping out the guys...who were NOT wearing speedos. Thank god. Blaring your own personal portable radio (no headphones) while every other group on the sand did the same. Ronstadt on the left, Skynard on the right. No cellphones. No iPods. Running up to the concession to find a pen to write down a phone number on the back of some guy's hand. Knowing they wouldn't call, but you waited by the phone anyway. Next time you ran into him, he'd say it got washed off. Nowadays you'd pull out your iPhone and run a background check first.
Can't have a slice of Pizza and a Coke either. It's pretty much suicide food.
Instead, try a healthy chicken wrap and bottled water. Yum.
There used to be this little candy store a few blocks from my elementary school. They had those wax mustaches and bottles with the colored liquid. Pixie Sticks and Licorice. Bubble Gum that cost a penny. Red Hot Fireballs. And my favorite, Mary Janes. You could bring your pennies and nickels and buy a bagful. Now they only have that stuff at the mall. You have to buy it buy the pound, and who would let their kids eat that stuff anyway. I think about this everytime I watch my husband down a full bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. He obviously hasn't quite caught up with the new diet revolution. Then again, he doesn't need to. Good genes. At least we all hope so.
Obviously we've learned quite a bit over the years and if we knew then, what we know now....well our collective childhood would have been different. Would have been more like what our own kids' experienced. But there's something pretty wrong with that because really, for me, childhood was all about being invincible. Eat those cookies. Skate on the not quite frozen pond. Climb that really old tree. "Look Mom, no hands!" was a rallying cry. I learned to ski, skate, sail and swim. We cruised the Miracle Mile just like the song. Played practical jokes. Made Crank Calls. Damn the consequences. All in all, we survived, and for the most part, turned out just fine.
Once in awhile, I just wish we didn't know so much.
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