Growing Up

Joining Humor Bloggers, I never knew we would have assignments. I may have rethought the whole idea of being funny if I had known homework was involved. Today's assignment is a post on growing up in the 60's, 70's or 80's. Since I have never really grown up, this made for a hard decision. I was a victim of all three decades.

Growing up in the 70's, and early 80's were simple family-oriented times. I was born in 1965 and graduated High School in '84. The 70's were a time of great music and carefree life. The 80's brought the Valley Girl image to the Texas panhandle and things got crazy.

We went on family vacations every summer to our cabin and in the 70's drove there in our school bus yellow station wagon with wood panels that we thought was so cool. Because there was no seat belt laws we were able to fold down the back back seat and spread out with our sleeping bags and play Uno or Old Maid or the peg game with golf tees that inevitably got left on the floorboard and my dad somehow managed to step on in his socks. I always thought Fred Flinstone was the voice of my father.

I had issues with body functions every trip. I shared yesterday about how I peed on Amy when I was engulfed by the swarm of crickets that was in the dark bathroom during one vacation. I also suffered from car sickness and if I sat in the front seat and watched Daddy drive the curvy roads through the mountains, I was not nauseous. We figured that out after I was asleep across the entire back seat and poor Amy was sleeping in the floorboard. I got sick and threw up ON Amy and her Holly Hobby doll. I felt terrible and since we were between towns, we all rode with the windows down, holding our noses for the next 35 miles.

Because we never had the high price technological gadgets like ipods, cell phones and hand-held gaming units that they do today, we kids were happy going on trail rides, hiking through the woods, and being satisfied with our plastic Indian baby dolls, feathered headbands, and Mexican jumping beans that never jumped. One vacation I remember really splurging and getting the plastic fake vomit and a plastic fake dog turd for my souvenir. Man, those were the days.

We went to school from 8 to 3, September through May. Summer was 3 months of unadulterated freedom. There were no video games, except Pong, and who the hell could play that for hour upon hour? We played outside from dawn until dusk, riding our bikes wherever we wanted, never checking in our cell phones and never fearing kidnappers or child molesters. There was no city curfews because there was little to no crime and there were no gangs.

There were only three television stations available and we watched shows together as a family such as The Twilight Zone, and the Wonderful World of Disney. I had a crush on Starsky and no boyfriend ever quite measured up to him, his curly brown locks, or his driving abilities. Speaking of driving, I had my license when I was 14. That thought of my 13 year old driving today makes me want to puke and pee at the same time.

I had issues with my bowels, too, never being able to poop on unfamiliar toilets. Let's just say the summer I spent away at camp at Palo Duro Canyon was the precursor for my later diagnosis of Ulcerative Colitis, I am sure. I told you I had body function issues.

We ate dinner every night together at 5 pm when daddy would come in. Mom always had a four course meal and we never missed it. We needed our energy for our weekend nights down town. Our social life consisted of dragging Main and sitting in the TG&Y parking lot and gossiping about who Melanie Norman was sleeping with that night. We said things like "Gag me with a spoon", "Totally!" and "For sure". We danced the Robot and the Wave and at that time Micheal Jackson had a nose and was our music god.

We girls always wore painted on skin-tight jeans that had to be zipped up lying one bed with a pair of pliers. (And I wondered why I had a terminal yeast infection from my freshman to my senior year.)Our shoulder pads were always in place. We wore the skinny gold stretchy belt to ensure those Gloria Vanderbilts wouldn't slip down. We were nothing if not fashionable.

My hair was huge and perfectly curled back into feathers and my make-up was piled on thick so no one had to doubt where my cheeks, lips, and eyes were. That art took me like 40 minutes to put on and my eyelashes were so thick with Maybelline Fresh Lash that they clicked when I blinked. That was the sure sign I had enough mascara on. The white sparkley eyeshadow was strategically placed under my eyes to accentuate them. Totally a babe.

Every Friday and Saturday night, my little sister Amy always went with me (because my mom let me stay out 45 minutes later that way). Little did mom know that while dragging Main St., listening to Boston and Journey and trying to be cool, Amy was in her favorite spot, the backseat floorboard. Hello! I had an image to uphold. But I never puked on her again. But there is always our next trip...

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