The old trash barrel

We all tend to romanticize our youth and the way things were at that time. Much of the stuff we remember was not really good and certainly not safe.

When we think of how we helicopter as parents now it is almost laughable how much freedom we country kids had.

I was born in the mid sixties and my parents were good parents. They were not well educated however and in looking back of what I remember is very surprising.

I remember riding in the backseat except when I wanted to be in the front seat. If I wanted to get in the front seat I would crawl over while we were moving. Seat belts were not used, when I was very small I do not even think they were in the cars. The only rule was don't kick Dad in the head while he was driving.

I remember on a few occasions when my Mom was driving and she would have to stop quick and out her arm would come in front of me as she held me back. A seat belt would have done the same.

Once or twice when riding with my older brother and his kids we would be so crammed in the backseat we looked like a Twister game. Once in an old Barracuda he had we got between the back seat and the glassed back...I think it was a fastback. It was hot like being an ant under a microscope.

In Bangor they are talking about going to a pay per bag for trash removal. Our taxes seem plenty high to me to pay for it but of course these things are inevitable. It makes me remember the rusty barrel that we had that Dad would burn stuff in each week. The smoke would plume, when you were 4 it was great fun to watch. Much of our trash was burned that way.

Of course what we did not burn we took to the dump. There were actual dumps then. We would go on Saturday mornings. There were always gulls and lots of birds there. I guess that was a prime address for them. I remember I always went with my Dad. But i also remember I was always just a little bit scared because it seemed to me that he drove just a little too close to the big cliff that you would backup to when you were to unload your trash. Still I remember it.

Often at the end of this adventure if was after 12 or on other trips that Dad and I took he would stop in a little store and buy a bottle of beer. Then he would take the long way home around the back roads and slowly sip the beer that he held between his legs.

We rode in the back of trucks as they went tooling down the road. When we wanted to talk to those in front we banged on the roof and leaned over the edge and yelled. Bike helmets did not exit.

Were we less safe? It would seem so.

I also suspect that the way I parent is over protective.

The world has changed.

My kids have more. My kids do more. But we were kids of a different sort. Now it seems like that with practices, ballets, trips to the Y sometimes we feel as parents like personal assistants. Trust me my parents were no ones personal assistant.

I do wish we could get that trash barrel back though,