We got an interesting E-mail from a Hinton woman the other day. She wanted to share some of her memories with our readers.
This is what she had to say:
If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, you may want to share some of these memories with your children, grandchildren, nieces, or nephews. Just don’t blame me if they bust a gut laughing.
Pizza was not delivered to our home. But milk was.
I didn’t have money; I had an allowance—25 or 50 cents a week. I did not ask for this and that.
I never had a telephone in my room. The phone was in the living room and it was on a party line. Before you could dial, you had to listen and make sure some people you didn’t know weren’t already using the line.
I didn’t have fast food growing up. All the food was slow. It was served at a place called “at home.”
We all sat down at the dining room table together, and if I didn’t like something that was put on my plate, I sat there until I did.
I also had to get permission to leave the dining room table. Don’t laugh.
My parents never owned their own house, wore Levi’s, set foot on a golf course, traveled out of the country, or had a credit card.
In later years, they had a charge card from Sears and Roebuck. There is no Roebuck anymore. Maybe he died.
They never drove me to soccer practice. This was mostly because we never heard of the game soccer, but also because we didn’t have a car.
We didn’t have a television in our house until I was 11 years old, but my grandparents had one before that. Of course, it was black and white.
I was 13 before I tasted my first pizza. When I bit into it, I burned the roof of my mouth and the cheese slid off, swung down, plastered itself against my chin and burned that too.
That was the best pizza pie I ever had.
We didn’t have an automobile until I was 15. The only car in our family was my grandfather’s Plymouth. He called it a “machine.”
Newspapers were delivered by boys six days a week—at the cost of 7 cents a paper, from which I was permitted to keep 2 cents.
I had to collect 42 cents from my customers on Saturdays. My favorite customers were those who gave me 50 cents and told me to keep the change, but my least favorite were the ones who were never home on Saturdays.
I could go on and on, but I am afraid all you little ones will suffer serious internal damage from laughing so hard.
I wouldn’t trade my youthful years with anyone. They were the best years of my life.
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Top o’ the morning!