My childhood was more fun than 2-dollar-lap-dance-night down at the County Line strip club. This was a magical time before cell phones showed up and gave our parents the ability to change their minds on whether or not we were allowed to have a good time that day. Back then your parents would tell you to be back by supper time, and as soon as you got out of their sight you were free as a library book.
Me and my buddies used to go down behind the Baseball fields to the recycling centers and look for Auto Trader magazines, and the occasional Playboy, and we’d also take beer bottles out of the bins, line them up, and chunk rocks at them pretending they were Nazi warplanes. Contrary to popular belief, it used to be popular where I came from to hate the Nazis. Also, an added benefit of finding Playboy Magazines in your local recycling center is checking the address on the front so you could figure out which kid’s Dad would probably let you drink in his basement. There’s some free advice to all you youngsters out there who may be reading this. Of course, I don’t know if that’s still how it works in 2022. You know, cause being Woke is killing everything pure1.
I remember walking home from school every day and stopping at Helen’s Restaurant. I never did know if an actual Helen existed, but if she did, I sure would like to thank her for introducing me and my buddies to Superman Ice Cream and Galaga. Superman Ice cream, for those of you who do not know, was just vanilla ice cream that had been made with food coloring to make it Rainbow in appearance. When they were out of it we would riot. Our parents would say “just get the Vanilla, it’s the same thing” but as Will Smith famously said before he publicly lost his gosh darn mind “Parents just don’t understand”. Helen’s has been boarded up for years but when I walk by it now I swear I can still see us all sittin’ in there talking about girls, Grand Theft Auto, and getting multi-colored stains on the shirts our mom’s had just bought us for picture day. They’ll still love us though… it’s the law.
It’s funny how, looking back knowing what you know now, how truly awful you feel for the way you treated your parents. I just can’t fathom the frustration they must have felt while trying to reason with an 8-year-old version of me2, knowing that what they were doing was for the best, and having me sit there vehemently disagreeing with them about a flavor of ice cream when there was no possible way for me to know what the hell I was talking about. But as stressful as it was, they persevered, because it was their job to teach us things.
I used to think my childhood was wonderful in spite of my parents, but I now know it’s because of them. Because they knew when to let me have my freedom, and when it was time to step in and be my protector, even if it meant they would lose some popularity points in the moment.
I also think my childhood was wonderful because I didn’t get violently murdered or have to watch one of my 2nd grade best friends bleed out in front of me. I think if you are a parent today and you are putting people’s “Freedom” to have high powered rifles above your child’s “freedom” to grow up licking ice cream in peace, then you are a piece of shit who deserves to be beaten publicly with a sack full of marbles. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Corey Ryan Forrester
I’m kidding for god’s sake
Not much difference in the current version to be fair
Yes, I spent much of my childhood in a tree, reading a book or knee-deep in creekwater, trying to dam the stream so I could have a swimming hole of my very own. (The cows usually destroyed anything I built -- those hooves could pulverize Mordor.) Only hand-held device I had was either a fishing rod or a pocket knife. (I was a tomboy.)
“Free as a library book.” What an amazing turn of a phrase. I know you write for you but you really do have a gift.