I have two early memories and I’m not sure which one came first or how old I was.
1. Wearing a Halloween costume that I loved. It was a frog, a one piece green jumpsuit thing with froggie feet that I apparently saw no reason to take off. My memory is hiding from my mother under a table thwarting her attempt to make me change.
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2. Nap time at some kind of nursery/play school. Everyone had to bring a blanket or quilt or something to sleep on and my mother being my mother bought me a fabulously soft and thick mini rug shaped like Humpty Dumpty. It was the envy of all the other kids and some of the bratty little bastards tried to steal it. I cried, the brats had to sit in the corner and the teacher made my mother switch it for something more mundane.
I must have been 3 1/2 because I was born in December and started nursery school early.
I remember all the children had to bring in something to sleep on for nap time. And while the other kids were given a pillow or blanket from home…my mother, being the uber mom she was…. went to FAO Schwartz and purchased a fantastically plush Humpty Dumpty egg shaped rug. It was perfect and I loved it.
I have vague memories of the other children being jealous and trying to take it from me on repeated occasions. Being a shy child, they often succeeded which resulted in my tear stained face and the teacher asking my mother to give me something less grand and envy provoking.
Which now that I think about it was a pretty lousy lesson. How about teaching my thieving little classmates to respect other people’s property instead.
I saw something in the antique store the other day that catapulted me back to my childhood. Ten years old, walking down to Browns 5&10 with my allowance in hand ready to buy the newest set of Wacky Packages.
They came in a small pack like baseball cards and included the same awful piece of gum. There was a check list as well because you had to be the first of your friends to collect them all.
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The cards had been around since the late 60’s, but when I bought them in the early 70’s the format had changed to stickers.
I entered my teenage years in the 1970’s and believe me, there were plenty of inexplicable things.
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Did we buy rocks we could just as easily have picked up in the backyard? Sure. But they came with fake hay and a nifty cardboard box. Who didn’t want that?
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Dr. Scholls. They were clunky, heavy, unattractive and you couldn’t wait to buy the next new color when it was released. You wore them, admit it.
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If you were a young girl in the ‘70’s? Your mother dressed you like this. I believe it is the reason many of us drink.
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This.
I wish I had a video of myself endlessly bopping around our backyard on what was then my favorite toy. This thing rocked! As well as bounced the living crap out of your internal organs. We had a slight hill on your property and let me tell you… 7 year old River airborne down a hill on a Hoppity Hop was a thing of beauty.
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Yes, also inexplicable was the 1970 desire to cover bathrooms in horrendous waves of thick, preferably shag, brightly hued carpeting. Mustard, olive green and turquoise were da bomb.
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While my parent’s home was filled with antiques and the occasional hint of Danish modern in the 70’s… aka the era of questionable taste…thankfully it didn’t include this particular “western” couch… but I can guarantee you knew someone who owned one and loved it. I knew many someones and sadly the couches were still in their homes in the 80’s.
Finally, no visit to the ‘70’s would be complete without this.
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Being chosen to run the overhead projector during class? That was the epitome of cool.
When I was flipping through my old baby book that was recently rescued from the cave of crap cellar, something interesting fell out.
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It was from my pediatrician’s prescription pad and instead of filling the younger version of me with drugs and antibiotics as doctors do today, it recommended a few simple home remedies for colds and sore throats that mothers have been using since time began.
Another treasure made its way up from the basement the other day and while I won’t bore you with the ridiculous amount of minutia my mother recorded during my first year of life in this baby book (Aunt Charlotte gifted us a silver spoon, woot!)….. I would like to point out that at age five?
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I was apparently as round as I was tall.
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I have to admit while the information itself didn’t mean much, holding a book filled with my late mother’s handwriting did make me choke up a little.
Do mothers even do this anymore… or is there just an app? Because I gotta say, fifty years from now when a grown up child finds that? No tears will be shed.
As I’m sitting here after dinner craving dessert, I’m going with the Good Humor truck.
No sound was more iconic to the summers of my childhood. We kept a bowl of change on the kitchen counter in anticipation of those glorious chimes. Doors would slam all over the neighborhood as every kid within hearing distance would run to the corner before it drove away.
The instant I read this a mental image of my mother standing impatiently waiting for me to get to the point flashed through my brain.
I was a creative child who loved to read, one more apt to be found at the library than the playing field. A good story always held me spellbound. So when I’d come running into the house anxious to tell my mother something interesting… but in the telling ended up weaving a long disjointed tale that made me forget the original thread…. she’d always shrug her shoulders, turn away and say, “It must not have been very important.”
To which I always wanted to scream, “Now I remember! The house is on fire.” … like that would teach her to take me seriously.
Retrieving our two boxes from the husband’s uncle’s attic last week resulted in a few tears from yours truly. Bittersweet memories overwhelmed me as I unpacked a few of my favorite childhood books.
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I’m not sure how I managed to hold on to these over the years, but flipping through Moldy Warp the Mole immediately transported me back to my father’s lap, listening to that story being read in his marvelously deep and melodic Scottish voice … and I admit my eyes started to leak. No matter how old I am, I’ll always be a daddy’s girl at heart.
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The other books in the box were all over the place subject wise. Civil War buff? Yup. Sap for everything James Herriot wrote? Most definitely.
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As evidenced by another childhood book…Man, Myth and Magic…. I was a strange child. This was a 24 volume series of the supernatural that came out in the ‘70’s. My mother refused to let me have it, so naturally I found book #1 and hid it under my bed.
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Judging from the current listing on eBay, I should have smuggled in the whole set.
It’s time to dive into all those slightly disturbing repressed memories and remember….
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I know most people will pick a horror film like the Exorcist…. and granted, Linda Blair’s spinning head and projectile vomit was enough to keep anyone up at night… but for me there’s only one answer.
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Yes, the heartwarming true story of Elsa the adopted lioness cub that became a beloved pet but had to be released back into the wild when grown damn near wrecked me.
I’m an animal lover to the N’th degree. I rescue the ones I can and weep for the ones I can’t. I come by it naturally as my mother and father were also animal crazy. We always had a houseful of stray pets and wounded birds when I was a child. My father was Scottish, but raised in England. Stiff upper lip et al. He wasn’t a man to give in to his emotions in public, but I saw him weep like a baby at the vet when his beloved dog died. What can I say? We’re animal people.
I can’t watch the commercials about abused pets, I have nightmares and wake up screaming. As a kid I refused to watch Sounder, the Yearling and most of the Lassie tv series. I was a tender hearted young soul.
But when Born Free finally came to television my mother decided it was a good family film and we would all watch it. What the hell was she thinking! I saw elephants and antelopes shot. I saw a woman being eaten by a man eating lion. My mother’s innocent family film turned out to be pretty bloody.
I, like everyone else, fell in love with Elsa the adorable frolicking cub. I loved her even more as she grew to become a proud lioness… and wanted her to live happily with the Adamsons forever. And ever, amen.
Seeing George and Joy forced to set her free had me weeping, openly gasping for breath. I couldn’t shake the sadness. Not that night, or the next. I kid you not… I was one depressed little girl for weeks on end after watching that damn film. And the song? Wow. To this day I can’t hear it without choking up.
So there you have it. Jaws didn’t scare me. Texas Chain Saw Massacre had me chuckling. The Omen? Come on…
But Born Free? That was pure unadulterated trauma.
So how about you? What childhood movie permanently scarred your psyche…
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