The 1970’s: Get Down On It

I could probably write an autobiography just on my life during the 1970’s.  As I have been thinking about what I’ve wanted to write on the subject, the flood gate of memories just started coming forth.  It was the years of President Nixon, President Ford, and President Carter, all who will probably go down in history as weak presidents.  It was the years of hippies, afros, bell bottoms, disco music, high gas prices, soft rock, no seatbelts, flying momma arms that were used as seatbelts, standing up in the car in the front seat while my mom was driving, baby oil for sunscreen, aluminum foil for suntans, and big glasses (sun and seeing).  It was the years of my childhood, and I absolutely loved these years.

I was born when the decade began, and I don’t remember much about it.  From what I’ve been told, my aunt drove my mom to the hospital when my mom realized that there was a problem six weeks before her due date.  I was born that day, and my grandmother put a note on my parents’ refrigerator to inform my dad that I had arrived because they had no way to contact him at work – he had no phone.  I was premature, weighing just a little bit, but the doctor said I was a fighter.  Indeed I was, even though I had been diagnosed with a mild case of cerebral palsy from a small brain aneurysm that occurred when I was in the birth canal.  When they finally brought me home, my brother dropped me on my head in an effort to help my mom.  (No sardonic comments please.  Ha!)  He also went around the house spraying Lysol.  I’m lucky that I survived him but survived I did.  My mom knew something wasn’t quite right, though, when I should have been walking and I didn’t even try.  I ended up at the original Scottish Rite Hospital, where they did a tendon transfer to help me walk.  (As a side note, I went to SRH for 16 years, at least once a year as they managed my care.)

My mom worked until I was in second grade, and I went to a home daycare called “The Little Bitties” before elementary school because I was a headstrong handful at home, and my mom thought that it would do me some good.  I was known as “Little Debbie” to that lady, and she was one of the loves of my life.  I started kindergarten as a Roundtree Roadrunner in the inauguration year of my school, and my dad dropped me off the first day.  He didn’t go in with me – he literally dropped me off at the school, and I didn’t know any differently at the time.  He took me to elementary school everyday, and I was often late.  Finally, he gave me two choices – to either apologize to the principal in person or to write the principal a letter of apology for being late.  I chose the latter and was never late again.  In first grade, I was spanked twice – once for playing the clapping game with a friend.  The teacher took us into the book room and asked the other adjoining teacher to observe.  The other teacher asked if she could get her glasses before the spanking occurred.  What a weird thing to remember, huh?

In general, I was a good kid at school, the kind that took pride in receiving the “student of the month” award that was announced over the loud speaker.  In second grade, I had surgery for a bunion at SRH during the Easter break – I remember waking up from the surgery, and my dad was there to offer me 7-Up.  Being in the hospital over a holiday with other sick kids left a lasting impression on me, one that I will never forget, but I loved having a cast at school.  I got to ride the teacher’s chair to the bathroom, and everyone signed my cast.  That cast itched like crazy, and I used to stick pencils down the thing to scratch my leg.  I also remember getting that cast off.  I can see the bright room in my mind, surrounded by doctors as I was lying down awake on the bed in the surgery room, watching and hearing the saw that took that smelly cast off.

As I said, I was good at school, but I was headstrong at home.  I would rarely take the blame, and I sometimes tried to blame my brother.  I pulled the button right off the ugly, velvety yellow couch and blamed it on my brother.  My parents spanked, and it meant something – it meant I was in trouble.

I spent a lot of time with friends and cousins who also lived in our small town.  Living in the country, we made forts, jumped on the rusty, hand-me-down trampoline with the springs missing, played alone in the woods, hiked alone down to a creek bed that was near our house, and got in the creek that had an electric fence near it with no adult watching.  (Yes, I got shocked one day.) We glued together pecan Christmas trees and decorated the tree down by the road for Christmas.  When with other friends, we learned to ride horses and drive a car on a dirt road before we were anywhere close to the legal driving age.  We spent summers at GA church camp with no moms there, cabin camping at Beaver’s Bend with the families of cousins every year, and camper camping at Lake Texoma with the families every year.  It was a small town, so we did everything together – school, church, football games, wrestling matches that traveled through our town, the State Fair, summer camps, etc.  Dad and I did Indian Princesses where he was named Big Buck, and I was named Little Doe.  I played sports with these friends, including soccer and softball.  When I played softball, I was hit in the face twice by the ball – once at a practice as the ball popped up from the ground and another from a line drive that smacked me hard in the eye as I was running to third base.  No one called 911 because there was no 911, and my mom didn’t take me to the doctor.  It just wasn’t done back then because I wasn’t sick.

During that decade, I spent a lot of time watching TV and listening to music.  I watched a little bit after school in front of a TV that had no remote – “I Love Lucy,” “The Brady Bunch,” “Gilligan’s Island,” “What’s Happening,” “Sanford and Son,” “Happy Days,” “Laverne and Shirley,” after school specials.  It didn’t matter.  My mom was lenient about what we watched and what we listened to, whether it was “Wonder Woman,” “The Love Boat,” or “Fantasy Island.” I saw “Blazing Saddles” in the theater with my cousin, and I saw “Grease” and “Saturday Night Fever” before I understood what they really meant.  My mom listened to soft rock and disco in the car; my dad listened to country; and my brother listened to rock at home.  So, I was exposed to it all – The Carpenters, Donna Summer, Sonny and Cher, lots of disco, Linda Ronstadt, Charley Pride, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Ronny Milsap, Van Halen, Queen, Styx, ACDC, etc.  We listened to a lot of music, and if a performer was on TV, we were watching – “The Porter Wagner Show,” “The Marty Robbins Show,” “The Carol Burnett Show,”  to name a few.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing, even though, yes, I had an atrocious Dorothy Hamill haircut at one point in third grade.  The ’70’s were a great decade for me as I grew up in a small town with great family, great friends, great music, great tv, and great times.