By Courtney Pierce
I can think of a hundred places in time that I'd want to pay a visit, but I generally stick with what I know. I'd go back to 1969, my favorite year when I lived in the small New England town of Cohasset, Massachusetts.That year signified a turning point, not just in my life, but in the lives of so many of my fellow baby boomers. With a tight grip on our 1950's innocence, we became enlightened by the extremes of violence and freedom, and also of radical music and social responsibility. Doris Day had been replaced by The Who smashing their guitars, and I’d go back there in a
heartbeat. I was 10 years old and bursting with inspiration as I rode my bike. Like a sponge, my
mind absorbed everything that happened around me—good and bad.
The end of the sixties was a time of discovery for me: first loves
and crushes, physical changes, and "duh" questions of why the government did what it did. As it turned out, that government thing wasn't so straightforward. Amazing advances in technology aligned with my interests, such as
portable record players, toys that moved in interesting ways, and little screen
televisions that jumped out of big cabinets to sit on the kitchen counter. A roll of tin foil was indispensable for messing with the rabbit-ears antenna. Cartoons in
prime time were a dream come true with my family’s first color set.
More than the cool electronics, though, the world presented
itself to me in new ways. As I watched a man land on the moon for the first
time, I believed that I could do anything, be anything, achieve anything. After
all, I wanted to stay on earth, which seemed a whole lot easier than achieving
stuff in space. Girls could have choices after doing the dishes and vacuuming. I yearned to spin on the ice like Peggy Fleming and flip on the balance beam like Cathy Rigby.
The sounds of my piggy bank transformed from jingles to quiet paper money with my grasp of a work ethic. When I took the initiative to exceed expectations with my chores, I received an unexpected reward. If I saved, a whole new road of possibilities could be paved. Saving yielded non-cash rewards, too, the most valuable being self-respect and a sense of pride in my achievements.
The Herman's Hermits were the perfect companion on my journey. Indulgences were earned, not given, which
made me appreciate them all the more. While my parents took
care of the basics, I was expected to pay for my optional extras. And boy did I
work hard for those, like the rabbit-fur purse I just had to have and the delicious lemony scent of Skinny Dip perfume. There was nothing like opening a new record album and playing it for the first time, the vinyl disc's surface free of scratches.
The sounds of my piggy bank transformed from jingles to quiet paper money with my grasp of a work ethic. When I took the initiative to exceed expectations with my chores, I received an unexpected reward. If I saved, a whole new road of possibilities could be paved. Saving yielded non-cash rewards, too, the most valuable being self-respect and a sense of pride in my achievements.
 |
| Herman's Hermits |
The summer months of 1969 were all too brief as I rafted,
swam, and sung away my days at a girl’s camp in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. No
televisions. No phones. The stars at night were flawless diamonds in the sky; the sounds in the woods let me know they were crowded with life. And life was perfect.
 |
| Photo: NPR |
Then that window of my personal Camelot snapped shut when I
came home to start fifth grade. My prime-time programs of The Flintstones, Bewitched,
and Addams Family had been replaced
with confusing gore: the Vietnam War, Robert Kennedy’s assassination, Stonewall
riots, and the Manson murders. Walter Cronkite had been like my grandfather when he'd relayed the day’s events in a way that I could understand. Now, he had a worried look on his face, and
Huntley and Brinkley had lost their optimism too. I never thought about people
in terms of race. Boys were boys and girls were girls. Who knew there was an in-between? My friends were just my friends, and I didn’t care if they
looked different from me. What the heck
was going on? For the first time, my parents wanted to watch
the news during dinner. And the newscasters didn’t just report what was happening;
they told me their opinion of it.
They say that history repeats itself, but I’m not so sure. Every
year becomes more complicated, more disrespectful, and further polarizes us in our
views. I think our leaders would see the world differently if they governed through the eyes of a ten-year-old child, a wondrous time when everyone
is still created equal.
Come to think of it, maybe I should change my target time
period. Next go round, I'd like to visit a day
in 1787—September
17th—the
day the U.S. Constitution was signed.
Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Milwaukie, Oregon, with her husband. stepdaughter, and their brainiac cat, Princeton. Courtney writes for the baby boomer audience. By day, she is an executive in the entertainment industry and uses her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor and mystery. She has studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, Courtney is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal.
The Dushane Sisters Trilogy concludes with Indigo Legacy, available now. There's love in the air for Olivia and Woody, but will family intrigue get in the way? Ride along for the wild trip that starts in a New York auction house and peaks in a mansion on Boston's Beacon Hill.
 |
| Photo: Micah Brooks |
windtreepress.com
Print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com.
 |
| Available Now! Book 3 of the Dushane Sisters Trilogy |
The Dushane Sisters Trilogy concludes with Indigo Legacy, available now. There's love in the air for Olivia and Woody, but will family intrigue get in the way? Ride along for the wild trip that starts in a New York auction house and peaks in a mansion on Boston's Beacon Hill.
The Dushane sisters finally get to the truth about their mother.
6 comments:
Love your posts Courtney. I do remember those days but from a different perspective than yours as in the 1960's I graduated from college, married, became a mother and a teacher among other life events. And Skinny Dip scent was my favorite.
For me, the late sixties were a time of hope and desperation. Definitely confusing. Luckily, many fears never came to pass and some prayers were answered.
The sixties became the moment when innocence turned quite complicated. I think those years started us down the path we're now on. They also shaped a new attitude toward growing up and remaining young to the end of our lives. When the future generations look back, it'll be us baby boomers who will be considered the luckiest generation in history. We've had the opportunity to continually reinvent ourselves.
I was born at the skinny tip of the tail end of the baby boom, so for me the sixties were about starting school and playing with my Chatty Cathy doll. And the first fragrance I recall being excited about was Charlie, which was released in the early '70's (I looked it up, hehe.) I do remember the excitement of the first moon landing though. My dad gathered us around the black and white TV to watch it. (Remember the tubes/fuses inside the TV that occasionally blew and had to be replaced?) I also saved my allowance and babysitting money diligently to purchase extras, like my first Bobby Sherman album.
I really enjoyed your post. I remain optimistically hopeful that we can return to a time when people are just people, and we can eradicate hate.
Thanks all! The aroma of Skinny Dip is forever burned into my olfactory memory. I even purchased a vintage bottle of it off EBay. Unfortunately, it was rancid. I wish they'd bring it back. Charlie was certainly a back-up fragrance, though!
Post a Comment