Every year along about the first scattering of snowflakes in the foremost weeks of November, I have a birthday that sneaks up on me and passes almost before it is noticed. This has happened each and every year for such a long time that I now have a considerable problem keeping track of their number.
But I do recollect my father often commenting on having to shovel through three feet of snow in order to get the nurse in. Now, he has been gone for quite a few years and I will one day follow in his footsteps, but at the moment, I can assure you that I have my health, lack wealth and even on a clear day, I won’t see 75 again.
From a friend, through the magic of email, comes a reminder to all the kids who survived the 1930s, 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s – proving to the world that we are an awesome group.
First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they were pregnant. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can and didn’t get tested for diabetes.
Then, after that trauma, we were put to sleep on our tummies in baby cribs covered with brightly coloured lead-based paints. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles or locks on doors or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had baseball caps, not helmets on our heads.
As infants and children, we would ride in cars with no car seats, no booster seats, no seat belts, no air bags, bald tires and sometimes no brakes. Riding in the back of a pick-up truck on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from a garden hose and not from a bottle. We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, white bread, real butter and bacon. We drank Kool-Aid made with real white sugar. And, we weren’t overweight. Why? Because we were outside playing – that’s why.
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. No one was able to reach us all day. And we were OK. We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride them down the hill, only to find that we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We did not have Play Stations, Nintendo games and X-Boxes. There were no video games, no 150 channels on cable, no video movies or DVDs, no surround-sound of CDs, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet and no chat rooms.
We had friends and we went outside and found them. We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from those accidents.
We would get spankings with wooden spoons, switches, ping-pong paddles or just a bare hand, and no one would call Child Services to report abuse.
We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever. And I personally remember my daughter with the leg of a large cricket hanging from the corner of her mouth.
We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls, played hockey on the road with frozen horse buns (known as road apples) and, although we were told it would happen, we did not get hit by a car or put out very many eyes.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend’s house and knocked on the door or rang the bell or just walked in and talked to whoever happened to be inside.
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn’t had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that. The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law.
These generations have produced some of the best risk takers, problem solvers and inventors ever. The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success, and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all. If you are one of them, congratulations.
In the meantime, folks, if you are thinking Christmas, thinking long- lasting, thinking reasonably priced gifts for those who already have everything, then think books. On Dec. 5 from 11am to 4 pm, Pat Mestern and I will be down at the Old Quebec Street Mall in Guelph, selling our wares, along with a dozen or more local authors from our IAIC writers’ group. That’s short for Independent Authors and Illustrators of Canada, of which I’m a founding member.
I expect to see about 90 per cent of my readers there. The other 10 per cent have already purchased my four self- published books. See you there, then.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-843-4544