I often see posts and memes on social media sites from baby boomers about yearning to return to simpler times, years ago when we didn't seem to have a care in the world.
It was back in the days when we watched "The Long Ranger," "Superman," and "Leave It To Beaver" on television sets. We played out outside until the street lamps came on, without being distracted by smartphones or other tech devices. We rode in cars without seat belts, or if younger, safety seats. We played board games such as Monopoly, Yahtzee, and Scrabble and various card games, those family-oriented activities on dining-room tables or living-room floors. It seemed that everyone remembers being at chuch on Sundays.
There's a reason most of us, especially those living in white middle- and upper-class America, had easy lives. We were much younger and had relative few cares or responsiblities. It was our parents and other adults who took us by the hand and guided our charmed lives.
Most of us who had mothers who stayed home and cared for us, from feeding our hungry little mouths, wiping our dirty little butts, reading to us and then tucking our tired bodies in bed. They washed and ironed our clothes, volunteered to chaperone on school field trips, and served as den leaders in cub scouts.
A simpler time
For many of us, our dads got up early in the morning and spent most of the day at work to pay our food, clothes, shelter, toys, and medical expenses. They also served as coaches and umpires in youth leagues. They also found time to mow the lawn, especially if we were too young to help, wash the car, and assist mom with various honey-dos.
Yes, it was a simpler time, for those of us growing up because we had little or no responsibilities other than to keep our noses clean and show a degree of respect to our elders. It was our parents and guardians who paid and paved the way for our wonder years.
Nostalgia is a wonderful but it's not possible to return to that life unless one can turn back the biological clock. Yes, I can yearn for the time when I was a preteen, but that's six decades ago.
Time marches on, and you can either keep in step or wallow in period that will never be.
Until the next time . . .