Christmas Wish List

 

Dear Santa – Please bring me a gas-powered plane like the one on the back of Boys Life Magazine. It’s ok if I don’t get anything else.  I did lose the football I got last year, and battery acid ruined my Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea submarine but I really, really want that airplane.

   Santa never personally responded.  Neither did my parents.  The response came on Christmas morning when “the package” wasn’t an airplane. It was actually a Spirograph set that lasted me for years but that wasn’t the point in 1966. I really wanted that plane.

   All of us have experienced that moment of disappointment – even on the most exciting day of the year.

   Parents prepare their children for many of life’s letdowns but when it comes to Christmas morning, kids are pretty much out on their own.  After all, it’s Santa magic that brings all the toys. “Don’t look at me,” they are thinking.  

   Almost everyone has a tale of Christmas morning surprise. A New Jersey friend told of the year he begged Santa for a NY Yankees jersey. Santa brought him a NY Mets jersey.  My guess is that the Mets gear was discounted because they were the worst team in baseball. That reminds me, Dallas Cowboys gear is on sale at Kohls.

   I deserve some blame as well.  For years my kids hoped Santa would deliver a motorized ride-on car. Every visit to Toys R Us included a trip to the car aisle where they would sit in every car and dream of the day Santa deposited one in our living room. They never got one probably because we regularly watched the dumb things do with them on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

   I don’t think any of us are bitter.  Every toy that Santa brought and every gift our parents wrapped was bought with love.  There was just a communications breakdown somewhere along the way.

   My suggestion would be to create an online pdf form that kids fill out with wish list items, rationale and budget estimates – just like their parents do.

  I recently saw a Facebook post of “The Sears Christmas 1963 Wishbook.” There was Mr. Machine, “the comical walking robot who swings his arms.”  I really, really wanted one of those.  Scanning the page, I found many other items of 7-year-old desire. So here is my unfinished Christmas list for 2020 with 1960’s prices.

   Dear Santa – If you have time, please bring me a Schwinn Stingray Bicycle ($49), Mr. Kelly’s Car Wash for my Matchbox Cars ($5.99), a wood burning set ($5.89), the 190 piece D-Day Combined U.S. Air and Ground Invasion Force with Exploding Mechanisms ($5.89), Matchbox City heat sealed and vacuum formed highways and overpasses ($7.99), G.I. Joe Splashdown Space Capsule - G.I. Joe not included – ($9.49) and the Lost In Space Robot with Blinking Lights and Movable Arms ($6.88).

   I’d give them all up for a gas airplane though but the Spirograph was actually very cool.  Thanks Santa mom and dad.

Last Minute College Advice

 

Hundreds of Allen kids headed off to college this week. If they are Allen High School graduates, they are well prepared for the academics. My concern is how they will cope with dormitory (or luxury apartment) life.

   Having successfully completed college myself in the 1970’s, I feel a responsibility to share my experience with younger parents and college freshmen.

   For example, did you remind your daughter not to leave cassettes on the dashboard where they will melt? Would your son remember to pack some extra Hai Karate in case the college bookstore ran out?  You can see why I’m worried.

   Here are some tips that worked for me and should help your college bound kids as well.

1.    You will be sharing a phone with at least three others so write down all of your calls.

2.    Always reverse the charges when calling your parents.

3.    Call your girlfriend or boyfriend after 11 p.m. on Sunday nights for the best rate.

4.    Avoid embarrassment by turning all of your Carpenters and Abba records backwards so your friends don’t spot them.

5.    Leave James Taylor and Cat Stevens records around your dorm room when girls visit. They like sensitive stuff like that.

6.    Playing Dark Side of the Moon at 45 rpm will pick up any dorm party.

7.    Milk crates make excellent record racks and coffee tables.

8.    Make sure your bell bottoms are properly frayed before leaving for college.  Cigarette ashes rubbed into the legs also give them a weathered look.

9.    Bring extra batteries for your transistor radio.

10.  Aluminum foil balls on the rabbit ears will expand your television reception.

11.  Never buy a used Chevy Vega – even if it looks like a really good deal.

12.  It is better to weigh down your turntable arm with dimes instead of quarters to get a clearer sound.

13.  Never stack more than three albums or they will start to slide.

14.  Electrical tape is expensive.  Masking tape makes a good substitute on stereo cables.

15.  Use the Herbal Essence Shampoo I gave you – girls dig it.

16.  Leave the galoshes home.  Bring Totes instead.

17.  Pumas…not Adidas…

18.  Keep your Navy peacoat dry – it smells when it gets wet.

19.  When attending campus demonstrations, carry a dime to make a phone call if you get arrested.

20.  You might rethink the Nixon/Agnew sticker on your bumper.

21.  Platform shoes are for high school proms, not college. Earth shoes are a much more practical solution.

22.  A summer job paying $1.75 an hour should be enough to pay for two semesters of college.

23.  Make sure you gas up on your odd or even day before driving back home.

24.  Beer cans and wine bottles make lousy decorations no matter what your friends say.

25.  Remember – there is more to life than Pong. Don’t let the video game disrupt your studies.

Progressive Dining For Kids

 I don’t think I ever thanked Mrs. Costa or Mrs. Casey for all those lunches and dinners. I’m sure I said “thanks” but I still owe both of them a big THANK YOU for so many meals.

Grubbing a meal at your friend’s house was usually more about the inconvenience of leaving than the allure of a different home cooked meal.  Maybe we just got the slot car track set up in Gary Costa’s basement or Tom Casey and I were engaged in a touch football game out front.  Either way, staying over for a meal meant the fun would continue after lunch or dinner.

Running home for a quick meal opened the risk that your own mother would require you to clean your room or some equally horrible task before you could go back out and play. The odds were better if you just stayed away a few more hours.

There was more strategy in a meal request than you would imagine from an 11-year-old.  Gary’s father, for example, got home from work early and dinner at the Costa’s started around 4:30.  My father didn’t get home until 5:45 so dinner at the Carroll’s was always at 6 p.m.  On a good night we could score a nice Italian dinner at the Costa’s and ride our bikes to my house in time for some roast beef.

If one of the dinner’s was a loser on our rating scale – we promptly made plans to eat at the other house.  The trick was finding out what each mom was cooking before announcing our evening plans.

The conversation started with Gary asking “mom, can Timmy stay for dinner.”  “He needs to call his mother first,” she would shout down the stairs. “Hi mom, can I eat dinner at Gary’s?  Mrs. Costa says it’s alright,” I would say on the phone.  “Ok but make sure you thank her and be home by 8,” she would respond.

Strangely enough there was always enough food at both houses as though our mothers knew we would be inviting company.  Moms are smart like that.

As I got older, I spent many hours at Tom Casey’s home killing time in those years when we were too old for toys and too young for a summer job.  PlayStation would have filled that gap so well but we settled on endless games of Cribbage and Chess and even Pong.

Even though she was cooking for eight children, Mrs. Casey never blinked at adding one or two at the end of the bench. On any given night, there was probably one or two Casey’s working or enjoying meals at friend’s homes just like we were, so it probably evened out.

I don’t remember what Mrs. Costa or Mrs. Casey cooked but I do remember there was always a friendly conversation that made me feel like one of the family. It was a glimpse into other people’s homes and routines and I don’t think I ever appreciated it enough. So, thank you moms for all those surprise meals and kindness.   By the way, “do you mind if I sleep over tonight? I have a room back home that needs to be cleaned!”

Social Distancing at the St. Vincent's Prom

 

   A phrase that will stick with us far longer than COVID-19 is social distancing. In simple terms – keep a safe distance from each other.

   That was the same advice given to me by one of the Sisters of Charity at my first prom in 1973.  She had no need to worry.  My prom date was also a blind date.

   Not a single picture survives – at least in my home – but it’s hard to forget the night I took a total stranger to her junior prom.

   Joanne, a counselor friend from summer camp had unexpectedly asked my friend Bill to the St. Vincent’s Academy junior prom in Newark (NJ).  “By the way could you get Tim to come along so my friend can have a date for the prom as well.,” she asked.

   Joanne presented a convincing argument as she explained that dates were hard to get at her all-girls school.  Bill and I agreed, secretly enjoying the fact that any girls were paying attention to us.  Looking back, it might have been helpful to first ask a few questions.

   A pre-prom date was arranged so we met Joanne and her friend Mary at a movie theater to watch the current must-see movie: The Poseidon Adventure.  A disaster movie turned out to be the perfect backdrop.  I am not exaggerating when I offer that Mary said ten words that evening. 

   I knew almost nothing about Mary when I showed up at her home for the prom two weeks later.  While Bill waited in the car outside, I found myself facing her mother, father, grandmother, sister and aunt in the small living room.

   A nice Essex boy was taking their daughter to the prom and everyone had dropped by to take photos.  I hadn’t been warned about this part of the special evening and I posed uncomfortably for photos careful to keep my social distance.

   Dancing was never one of my strong suits so I was pleased that my date preferred not to dance either.  That left plenty of time for conversations that rarely occurred.  Instead we awkwardly watched the dance from the sidelines admiring the Stairway to Heaven themed decorations and listening to the band.  Nuns and chaperones conveniently located around the ballroom ensured that social distancing guidelines were followed.

   Unlike many blind date stories, this one has no surprise ending.  We drove the girls home and pleasant words were exchanged. No promises were made to get together and we never saw the girls again. 

   Bill and I figured that it could have been much worse.  Looking back, I would imagine that Joanne and Mary felt the same way.  It was good dry run for all of us with no unfortunate consequences. 

   Still, I wonder if my photo rests in her mother’s old photo album with the caption “guy who took Mary to the prom and never called again.”  It’s not likely.

 

Grownups Eat Too Slow and Talk Too Much

 Grownups eat slow and they talk too much after dinner!  There’s no reason to put it into the kids’ handbook because every kid has already learned that.

I can’t count how many times my social life, even my reputation, depended on Aunt Helen turning down that second cup of coffee.  I was rooting for “no thanks, we need to get going,” but the response was often “sure, we have time” and I would slink back into my seat.  Eating politely fast didn’t help. It just meant sitting longer and listening to grownup talk – yuk.

Each summer there was a special neighborhood playtime that started after dinner and ended with the young ones heading home at dusk. If your family ate a late dinner, you risked being chosen last for capture the flag or watching form the sidelines.  There was no texting, of course, and calling a friend during dinner was against the grownup rules.  So, it was commonly known that the fun started at about 6:30 with whatever neighborhood kids showed up.

Who showed up and how many often determined what the game of choice would be.  The big kids got to call the shots and the little ones considered themselves lucky to be included – at least until sundown. Girls rarely mixed with the guys during the day but everyone was welcome after dinner.

Running bases was the most popular activity for large groups. The big kids would simply play catch while 15 kids ranging from 7 – 12 years-old would run like fools up and down the street.  It was good practice for any future cricket stars though.

Hide and seek was the other good choice for large groups.  Even though the “rules” stated that no one could leave the front of the houses, the street was a long one and offered many creative hiding places. Inevitably the young ones would become “it” and wander up and down the street yelling “olly, olly in come-free” or the more pure form “olly, olly oxen-free.”  Regardless, kids came bursting out of bushes and from under porches swatting mosquitos that had been munching on them.

Let’s return to the dinner table and Aunt Helen’s second cup of coffee.  The privilege of older age allowed me to ask if I could be excused but there were years when it was clear no one left the table until mom gave the signal.  Aunt Helen was clueless to the harm that second cup of coffee might cause.

Meanwhile, in the distance, kids could be heard playing tag.  The only thing more painful was having your mother show up and call you home early in front of the group for some indiscretion.

Once I was officially an older kid, I realized that the fun began after dark and the early evening games were just an excuse to be excused from the table. There was safety in numbers and five or six teenage guys and gals could have fun just sitting on someone’s porch swatting mosquitos and talking like grownups do.  Go figure.

America - You're Grounded!

 When it comes to addressing the current health crisis, citizens are hearing terms like social distancing, staying in place and self-quarantining.  Apparently, in a twist of fate, children are now demanding that their elderly parents stay home. 

The virus outbreak and attempts to slow it down are serious business which is why I offer one piece of advice.  Tell all the people “they’re grounded!”  It’s a phrase that every person over the age of 15 should clearly understand.  They should know the rules and put up little argument if they don’t want to be double grounded.

Grounding was a fairly common occurrence in the Carroll household although my wife Ann insists that she spent the better part of her high school years being grounded for various infractions.

In my case, grounding was usually the outcome of a privilege gone wrong.  “You can go to the movies but be home by 10,” said my mother.  It was a simple request that was stretched or completely ignored by my teenage self.

Getting grounded after a Friday night infraction was a bad choice because it meant spending the entire weekend at home.  Saturday night missteps kept me home on Sunday but that wasn’t so bad.  Once I even tried to negotiate my way out of church on Sunday morning because I was grounded.  My motion was denied.

Grounding was sometimes accompanied by forced labor.  As judge and jury, my father might ground me, but my mother would add a distasteful task onto it like mowing the yard or picking weeds.  I once clipped four quarters from my mother’s coin jar to buy some Matchbox cars.  I got caught and had to pick 50 weeds.  I even tried to rip them in half, but moms know about these things – busted again.

Of course, when grounding fell across a really important event like a friend’s birthday, I might complain and moan for a few days. Then I’d make my pitch to pick weeds or wash the car in lieu of being grounded.  I saw it more as a work release program.

Grounding was especially painful when the keys to the family car were involved.  It was more painful losing access to the car than sitting around the house when I was 17.   The guy with the car got to call all the shots.  The guy without one got the back seat, literally.

Of course, breaking curfew was only one path to grounding.  I talked back, stretched the truth about my homework on a few occasions and came home from the prom at 7 a.m. but that’s a story for another day.

The big difference between today’s “stay in place” and yesterday’s grounding is that no one is being punished in 2020.  In fact, we are being asked to ground ourselves to help others.  It’s a hard concept for some to understand – so maybe having Governor Abbott release a statement that everyone in the state is grounded will do the trick.  Hang in here Allen!

Our Mysterious Garage

 

I don’t think there was a place in my home more fascinating and scarier than the garage. 

Folks didn’t walk out of the kitchen into the garage in the old days – they walked across the yard to what we now call the “detached garage.”  Whether it sat at the end of a long farm driveway or backed up to a creepy alley in the city, the garage was one place you didn’t mess around – until you were old enough to mess around that is.

Our family garage could have doubled as a horror movie set.  Old dangerous tools hung on the walls, while jugs of weird chemicals and rusted paint cans lined the shelves.  The place always smelled like seasoned wood and old oil because there were stacks of old wood and oil cans around the floor. The only thing missing was a car. The garage was built in the 1920’s and was perfectly sized for a Model T, not a twenty foot ‘65 Bonneville.

The garage was a place that came with very specific instructions when we were small: don’t go in there without mom or dad. I had no problem with that because the place creeped me out. 

The garage was different though because there was cool stuff among the creepy stuff.  There were beach umbrellas, old baseball bats, an old push lawnmower and a set of wooden skis that my father last used in the late 40’s.

As we got older, it was also a place that we stored bicycles. We performed maintenance work on them with old rusty tools and a greasy oil can that popped on the bottom and squirted dirty oil out the spout.  In the days before WD40, it was the best we had.

Nothing ever seemed to leave the garage.  Sacks of concrete mix had become blocks of cement and potting soil had weeds growing out of the package.

Again, as my brother and I got older, a plywood go-kart with a Briggs and Stratton upright lawnmower pushed the bicycles aside. Instead of a forbidden zone, it became a place to hang out away from the parents.

Then, my friend and I played a game called “I wonder if it will burn.” We put a match to a broken old canvas chair and it burst into flames.  I can’t imagine what we were thinking but burning down the family garage was not on the list.  We dumped a 50 lb. sack of peat moss on the chair and the fire got snuffed out.  We cleaned up the mess and threw the chair in the garbage. If dad hadn’t found a burned chair in the trash can, it would have been the perfect crime – it wasn’t.

Again, years later, my parents had both passed away and I found myself faced with a task familiar to many baby boomers – cleaning out the parent’s house.

Hazardous or not, I dumped all of the paint cans and chemicals into the trash.  I kept the skis for no reason and sold the remaining contents “as is” with the house.  I forgot to tell them about the 150 lb. sack of concrete.

If you grew up with a garage in the yard, you know what I mean when I say it was fascinating and creepy at the same time.  It’s the smell I still recall though. That mixture of old wood and oil and pesticides. Ah, the good old days.

The Big Vinyl Comeback

 Have you heard that vinyl is making a comeback? Young folks are buying classic rock albums on vinyl for inflated prices because they sound better than the digital files that replaced them. 

Of course there was a brief period of insanity where we thought 8-tracks were the solution.  Then we dumped our 8-tracks for the convenience of cassettes because they sounded better. Music nuts like me bought them all.  I owned the album Dark Side of the Moon on vinyl, then 8-track, then cassette.  When CD’s began to hit the market, my first purchase was the Pink Floyd classic. The first time I heard that album without scratches and pops and hiss, I knew my vinyl days were gone.

I grew up listening to music – especially records. I bought Beatle 45’s in 65 and bought my first lp in 1969 (Paul Revere and the Raiders).  By 1999, I had collected closer to 1000 albums.  Combined with hundreds of cassettes and CDs, my music collection was either impressive or silly based on your point of view.

Like many reading this column, I started listening to music by playing my parent’s records.  Their collection included about twenty random albums and one 78 rpm gem. There was no logic to the records that were stored in the bottom of our bookcase. Still, I remember almost every one of them because they were the only records in our house – at least until the Beatles invasion.

A favorite was Burl Ives singing folk classics like Froggy Went a Courtin’ and Goober Peas.   Yes, the golden voice behind Frosty The Snowman was quite the folk entertainer in his day.  There was also an Eddy Arnold lp that we never listened to.  It stayed at the bottom of the stack with the corny Rosemary Clooney and Frank Sinatra’s albums.  

One that got played often was the movie soundtrack to South Pacific.  I knew nothing about the show but loved songs like There’s Nothing Like a Dame and Bloody Mary.  That album helped me learn a skill that I perfected in later years called dropping the needle – as in skipping the first two songs and finding the start of cut three.

The only record in the cabinet that was officially a kid song was a 78 rpm disc that a babysitter gave to my older brother.  It was the 1958 classic One Eyed-One Eared-Flying Purple Eater by Sheb Wooley.  Years later I heard a digital version and realized I’d never heard it without the crackling and scratches.

Years later I blended my parent’s records into my own collection. They never got played but the covers were a strong memory of home and that old hi-fi.  

I replaced my record collection with digital versions years ago and have no regrets because they sound great and can be heard anywhere at any time.  Still, I miss the feel and look of the old albums. The covers are an instant reminder of the music inside and I do miss liner notes.

I’m not going back to vinyl though.