Growing up in the '50s and '60s was a gift for many reasons. Our family, like many others, enjoyed life, worked hard, and believed in God without question. We lived in a neighborhood where all the houses looked the same, and cars from Detroit parked in the driveways.
We rode the bus to and from school, and Mom was always waiting for us. In some cases, a dog or two would be watching for a particular kid. We had friends our own age who became best friends, moving through the grades and graduating together. Some classmates went off to college, while others went to work in the mills and factories, just like their parents and grandparents before them.
People were kind and showed respect for one another. Men opened doors for women, and strangers tipped their hats as they walked on the inside of the sidewalk.
Kids earned their allowances by cutting lawns and washing cars. They had a strong work ethic instilled by caring parents and seldom talked back or misbehaved, as the threat of Dad coming home and taking off his belt was the worst nightmare.
Everything seemed black or white back then. Families ate together at a table, discussing the news of the day, like winning a prize at school or the neighbor's son joining the Marines, which was typical dinner conversation. There were no cellphones or video games, but we enjoyed Saturday afternoon trips to the movie theater, where older kids in the balcony threw popcorn down on us. They were older, so we just dealt with it, fearing for our teeth.
There was the bowling alley and the ball field, where kids from the neighborhood challenged each other in friendly games. We swam in the public pool and ice-skated on a frozen pond. We wore out our sneakers in a matter of months, and Mom let out our pants as we grew taller. We learned to shave using a razor without blades and got brush cuts every summer.
We explored on our bikes and put baseball cards in the spokes, creating sounds like motorcycles. We camped outside on warm summer nights, telling ghost stories that sometimes frightened a kid so badly they ran home. We played soldiers in the woods using sticks instead of guns and made crude bows and arrows that never seemed to go very far.
We went home when the streetlights turned on, and God help you if you didn’t get home before Dad.
It was a great time to be alive when simplicity was the norm, and every day was another adventure. We loved our families and our bedrooms, where some would write secrets in a diary while others read comic books under the covers with the Mickey Mouse flashlight you could send away for with ten box tops from your favorite cereals.
We set up model railroads in the basement, wishing for more tracks or a new engine, which Santa somehow heard and delivered. We put together model cars and airplanes, hung them from our bedroom ceilings, and watched them spin as a warm breeze blew into our room.
Looking back, I don’t think I’d change a single thing about my life back then. Sure, I grew up, and toys were handed down or donated to a church rummage sale. Saturday afternoon movies were replaced with Saturday night dates, where you had your first kiss and sat close to the girl of your dreams.
Some of my buddies were called off to war, and some never came home as our world began to change. Factories closed, and new cars became just a dream. Food prices rose, and hamburgers replaced steak. More and more moms found work outside the home, leading to frozen dinners eaten on TV trays in front of the television. We watched as picture after picture seemed a million miles away, but somehow, it felt close to home when a military car with two officers brought bad news.
“The world is changing so fast,” Mom would say, wiping away a tear and asking us to join in a prayer. As the years passed and the world changed, life was no longer about afternoon movies or drinking milkshakes with your sweetheart. It became a time when people stopped trusting one another, as the age of the computer emerged—a place where the dirtiest of secrets could be found with the click of a mouse.
Kids stopped exploring the woods and playing stick soldiers, opting instead to sit in front of a screen until their eyes dried out. Making ends meet became impossible as both parents, or sometimes just one, struggled and prayed for their children’s future, while some feared the worst.
I was one of the lucky ones who made it home from the Navy and pursued a career that allowed me to provide for my family. We still eat supper together, sharing the day’s news, but unlike the simple events of the past, we discuss the state of our world and wonder what kind of life our children will have. There isn’t much laughter anymore, and the old ways feel like they are drying up and scattered to the wind.
In my heart, I still believe there is goodness in this world; people care for each other and want to relive the past to preserve the memories we never want to lose. Just close your eyes and smell a steak grilling on a beautiful autumn day, or remember the Sunday drives in the country. Think of losing your two front teeth and staying awake to see Santa. Believe in the good things as the noise of today quiets down, and you stop worrying, if only for a moment.
Mike 2025
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