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James 1:4 But let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be [people] perfectly and fully developed [with no defects], lacking in nothing.

It's a wonder I survived

There was something that went around the internet a million years ago talking about being a child of the 50s. Well, I am a product of the 60s. Gasp. I'm still alive and I'm healthy. That is such a remarkable thing because listening to news stories, or product recalls, or even doctors it's a wonder that children reached the ripe old age of 10 or saw the turn of the decade.

When I grew up, there were no car seats for babies. Dad devised this nifty bed with hooks that set over the back of the front seat and we'd lay there within easy reach of mom's loving hands. Of course the bed was not for riding, but for when we went to the picture show, the drive-in with no stereo speakers, but a mono system that hooked to the half-way rolled up window. There were no seat belts, or air conditioners, for that matter. We drove with the windows down and our hair blowing in the hot breeze. Our hands would brace against the wind and, surprisingly, nothing came along and knocked off our hands.

We drank Kool-aid with real sugar, even the red flavors. I loved the root beer flavor that started out blue in the package, but you added a cup of sugar and a half gallon of water and you had root beer without the fizz. We ate cookies and popcorn, and chased the ice cream truck, but it was okay because we burned up all those calories playing outside, or doing our chores. We rode our bikes, refurbished ones that looked brand new because we were poor but didn't know it, and played games that involved forts, and Indians, and cowboys. We played Roy Rogers and Dale Evans; an old beat up saw horse was Trigger and the saddle was pure imagination. We held off armies with sticks, and believe it or not we didn't put our eyes out. We saved the world more than once playing spies.

Shoes came off the last day of school and except for shopping on Saturday and church on Sunday, our feet didn't see a shoe all summer. Flip-flops and sandals kept the heat and the stickers off the soles just fine in the beginning and then we "toughened up" and didn't need the things.

When we got a little older, our games involved dress-up with old clothes gathered from our moms. We'd let down the attic stairs and pretend we were Miss America coming down those rickety steps. Who cares if Miss America had sweat drops beading her upper lip and her hair clung to her forehead? We were beautiful.

To cool our throats, we'd turn on the hose and satisfy our thirst that way. Of course, everyone would get wet, it was part of the fun. Nobody had ever heard of cold water mold, and bacteria were something that hung out in sick rooms, not on water hoses. We'd let the water run a little while until all the sun-heated water stored in the hose ran out. No harm in that, was there? If there were just two Cokes in the refrigerator, we'd pass one around so everyone would get a swig, and save the other for tomorrow.

When it rained, we'd play card games or checkers, always checking the windows for a tiny spark of sun. Outside play was so much better than inside play. Finally, the last drop of rain slipped from the roof top and we would gather in someone's drive way ready to splash in the water rushing down the ditches, (the same ditches that protected us from Indian detection while we slithered to the fort) never thinking there might be a broken bottle in them or a rusty can, because folks didn't toss trash out into other people's yards back then.

When we wanted to see a friend, we rode our bikes or walked. When we got there we usually just walked in because no one kept their doors locked.

Holidays were such fun. Both sides had huge families so when we'd all get together the kids were shooed outside to play and the grown-ups would visit: women in the kitchen and men on the porch or in the big room. The TV never came on. It was conversation that was the diversion and family news was exciting. Holidays were all about sitting on the porch listening to the brothers talk about the funny things they did when they were kids; and hiding behind the rocking chair listening to the women talk about all kinds of things. Holidays were yummy things my Aunt Marian, Aunt Ollie Bell, Aunt Alease, Aunt Lou Ann, and Mom conjured up in the kitchen with fabulous aromas which reached the backyard barn drawing us kids from everywhere. But it was okay, because there weren't any Walkman's or computer games, or X-boxes to make a child's activity cease burning up those calories. We had just spent hours swinging on ropes from hay bale to hay bale high above the barn floor, or sliding down the old metal oat bin lid.

We walked to the store to get ice cream when the ice cream truck quit running, we had to rake the mowed grass and leaves to earn an allowance. We learned to cook lunch and dinner, how to make biscuits from scratch, and how to bake a cake. Washing clothes meant hanging them out to dry on the clothes line in the back yard. If it rained, we dash to grab the clean clothes of the line before they got wet again, giggling and laughing in the race against rain drops. We earned our allowance, but we considered it a privilege not a wage.

I climbed trees and hauled my books up into the tree in a plastic bucket, and spend the afternoon reading where the cool breezes blew. No such thing as air conditioning. We didn't have cable, or DVDs or even video tapes. We didn't have anything for entertainment but wild and wooly imaginations. Black and white TV and an AM radio was how our parents kept up with news; and evening entertainment meant I Love Lucy, Andy Griffith Show, To Tell The Truth, and everyone knew who Allen Funk was.

We never felt tortured or ill-used because everyone was expected to do chores. We tasted the dog food because the dog liked it so much, it had to be good. My sister put rocks in her mouth, and let lizards hang from her ear lobes. She's still alive and healthy...it's a wonder.

"Voice of Inspiration" from Andy Castro

Pretzel Love-Psalms 91:14