June 16, 2018 – Saturday
Summer of 1967 … no, Summer of ’68 … no, I can’t decide … it’s too hard.
I was a decade old when the Summer of ’67 rolled around. It probably couldn’t have come any faster, as any 10 year old will tell you. Endless summer days … of … what the heck did we do? We were out of the house in the early morning and home for lunch and then back out … and then back home for dinner at 5. We got to go back out to play until the street lights came on – then it was back home, a bath and bed.
I filled my days with friends and my brother. Reading up in the maple, making jig saw puzzles in the basement (when it was just too hot to go out), endless hours in the local pool, playing Barbie, riding bikes, playing Red Rover and freeze tag, catching fireflies at twilight and making buttered popcorn for my dad at night.
The days were carefree and endless and we did those same things day after day, week after week, month after month – until school rolled around again in September.
Except for 2 glorious weeks when we went on a family vacation. Now, it could be we only did this three or four times … but in my cobwebbed memory, it seemed like we went somewhere every year. And maybe we did.
But the 2 trips that stand out the most were the ones in the Summers of 1967 and 1968. Maybe because my brain cells had gelled enough to remember stuff … and had not yet morphed into all things teen, but those summers stand out. In any case – those trips were epic.
Now, I have to thank my mom … who, undoubtedly, was a saint … remember, these were back in the days of EVERYTHING cotton – which meant, everything (as in EVERY LITTLE THING) needed ironing unless you wanted to look like a vacationing family of raisins.
So, thanks, Mom … for washing and ironing and packing for 5 people (and sometimes we had the dogs, too – but on these trips we didn’t) and putting up with 3 wild children and CAMPING – as was almost always the case. Which also meant packing up a kitchen and towels, etc etc …
And, that leaves me to the navigator/driver/instigator/coordinator/planner (down to the nanometer of distance) … my Dad. He was the one who packed the tents (as in 2 tents … one was a kitchen tent – we “glamped” when glamping wasn’t even a thing yet!), and cots (yes, we had cots and one was a bunk bed!), and rugs and lanterns and sleeping bags and tent poles (that didn’t fold up) and a huge water bottle and a cooler and omg … you name it … whatever was needed for a family of 5 to survive in the wilderness of the US of A during the ’60s, that could fit into a station wagon (without leaving a kid behind), was packed in. I’m pretty sure he was the inventor of Tetris but didn’t cash in on it.
Thanks, Dad.
I look back with absolute AWE over those travels. A family of 5 in a station wagon for 2 weeks … eating sandwiches off the back fold down door … no A/C … warm pop to drink. The early morning smells of coffee and donuts. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one with heat stroke and car sickness! It was fabulous for us kids (at least for ME) … but I’m sure it was long, hot days for my folks. So, thanks, again!
We criss crossed the US those summers … I’ve only 4 more states to hit before I make it to all 50 … and in the Summer of 1967 we left Chicago for all parts EAST … Niagara Falls, Expo ’67 (which was up in Montreal, Canada and my first international trip – no passports required!), then to Killbear Park in Ontario (where we ate 19,000 lbs of blueberries off the land), down to Lake George and Ticonderoga, NY … and any and all places in between before going back home again. A zillion miles! It was fantastic!
Thanks, Dad.
In 1968 my Dad secured a “destination car” … someone needed their car delivered to California. So, we packed that puppy up and with a dent in the rear fender we pointed the car WESTWARD and high-tailed it to sunny CA. I can’t even begin to tell you everything we saw on that trip. If it was a sight to be seen – we saw it … and then some!
Somewhere along the way we stopped at a gas station (“filling station” back then) and looking at the dent in the fender, some old farmer local-yokel with a nasal twang said, “Looks like you’re missin’ a corner.” We thought that was a hoot and a half … and must have been road worn cuz to this day we all get a good chuckle out of it whenever someone says that!
And somewhere along the way, Arizona or somewhere desolate and hot, I was the one to flag down a passing motorist when we ran out of gas on a lonely stretch of heat-wavy highway. Thank you good samaritan for getting my dad (and the can of gas) back to us safely before my mom had a panic attack or the coyotes got us – either one. My mom must have been a wreck!
Anyway, on that trip we were in LA and got to see the ocean for the first time! We spent a day (or two) in Disneyland, visited with old neighbors (I remember the walnuts from their tree hitting the roof of the house – such a heavy, pleasant sound!), camped amongst the ancient redwoods and for the first time for us kids – we boarded an airplane and flew home! Very exciting.
I look back and I wonder, how the hell did my folks afford these trips? My dad worked a normal job. We were a one income family. How did they do it?
My Dad was 30 when I came on the scene … with 2 other kids already and a house mortgage, and one car (for a long time) and dogs and other critters and bills (and I contributed to them greatly with glasses and always being sick!) … a lot to shoulder at that age.
He worked at the same company for a million years. Up at 7 and home by 5 (ish) every Monday thru Friday … day in/day out for 41 years. Yikes! He’ll be 90 this September and has better memory retention and recall than I do. Up until a few years ago, Dad was quite athletic … he was always involved with handball or softball … and he rode his bike … as in A LOT. For years he’d ride that bike of his 1500 miles in the summer months … and walk another 1000! Crazy! He still goes to the Fitness Center and works out. He’s amazing.
I even have a video, on my phone, of him doing a plank … he’s a bad ass at 89!
I got my poor eyesight from my dad … (thanks tons) … but also my deep appreciation for nature, tomatoes, dogs and the love of the land. I got my gypsy blood from him, too. When the winds warm and the sun has that certain shimmer – there’s nothing I’d rather do than pack up the car and head out – anywhere! It doesn’t matter … that road trip fever hits me and I am once again 10 … going off to sights and places unknown … without a care in the world.
So, thanks Dad … for showing me so much of our country from the back of a Ford Falcon. For taking us on all those fabulous summer trips … for instilling in me appreciation for a job well done, for a trip well planned, for money well-earned and saved and spent … for animals and nature and home-grown tomatoes … for simple things … and that there is fun to be had in a car full of family. All those things and a million, billion more.
And, oh yeah, for the love of buttered popcorn.
Thanks Dad. Happy Father’s Day!