I’ve had a hard time convincing my children how tough things were back in the Fifties when I was growing up. Somehow, the old I had to walk ten miles to school through three feet of drifting snow routine doesn’t work on youngsters who spend more time riding on a school bus than they do working on their homework.
My kids, who fight over possession of the two full bathrooms in our house, are not at all impressed when I tell them my childhood home only had an outhouse during the first three years Daddy took to build it.
They take even less notice of the fact that I didn't know anyone who had a television set until I was four-years-old. And they shrug their shoulders when I tell them that cars came without air conditioning or seat belts and houses came without automatic dishwashers and microwave ovens back then.
My daughters yawn when I say I never saw a handheld blow dryer until I was in college, and my sons are only mildly interested in hearing that the smallest computer in my childhood filled several good-sized rooms.
They really ganged up on me the last time I tried to help them see how many advantages their generation has compared to mine:
Yeah, Mom you sure had a rough time of it...
When hamburgers cost nineteen cents...
And you could get two Snickers for a dime...
When all the theaters showed double features...
And there was no pollution or acid rain...
Or holes in the ozone layer...
And you never had to lock your doors!
And I never tasted pizza until I was in fourth grade, and my mom came home from Homer's Market with the newest rage--a boxed mix that baked up into something resembling a thin sheet of cardboard sprinkled with tomato sauce, oregano, and grated Parmesan. That night she had a party and invited all her friends over for a slice. I got a corner piece and thought it was the most delicious thing this side of Elvis Presley.
"Gosh, Mom," one child finally put things in perspective, "life must have been a bummer before that."
