I remember growing up in the 1970’s. When having two cars was unheard of and rich people sucked. The cool kids were the slobs, they were Cutters and rode their bikes all day. Our parents smoked, we made prank phone calls and adults were scary.

We were working poor and our Fathers had heart attacks. They could own a house but never went on vacation. Our summer recreation programs were free and no one went to camp. We hid from parents.

Little boys had sleepovers and peed on their hands and said that they had “cum” and we watched Chiller Double Features on Friday nights and made Jiffy Pop. The pretty girls had that lip gloss that went on thick and smelled like Dr. Pepper. Our Moms were never happy.

Unions were good and Veterans were revered and we went outside until the street lights came on. We built forts in forsythia bushes with broken down furniture and looked at the same porn magazines over and over and over. Adults kept secrets.

College was for other people and no one knew rich people and our cousins were our best friends. We wore t shirts in the lake when we swam and brought coolers with just enough bologna salad sandwiches for everyone but no more. We all knew a pedophile.

We picked up hitchhikers and my mom worried about the kids lost in Vietnam and she only cried when a child was hurt. There were hostages and terrorists and riots. The government was no longer reliable and no one I knew flew anywhere. Our Fathers had affairs.

We all saw the same commercials and watched the same shows and rarely went to a restaurant. Rich people were important people. Powerful men got away with terrible things.

Over and over and over I think of these things. It makes me almost feel fine.