There are many signs that scream that I have left the left side of 50, or as Rod Serling, would say, I have “entered the Twilight Zone,” the brave new world of “I am no longer young.” I know, because my list of “the way things were” gets longer, and more dated with each passing year.
I was born in a world of rotary phones. By adolescence, the push-button had made its entrance. There was a lot of commotion over its ease and convenience. Done and gone. Quaint artifacts of the olden days.
Telephone directories, those bi-colored books, with white pages for a people search, and yellow pages for a business search, would appear on the doorstep once a year, free of charge. Done and gone. Never to be contemplated again.
While color TVs became ubiquitous in the ’70s, I grew up with a black and white TV. The screen was maybe 24 inches, and there were only about seven stations to choose from. At some point, we got a remote control, but I don’t recall it having a presumed presence in the house.
The NBC peacock used to spread its feathers to announce that the upcoming show would be a color presentation.
Dimes were critical because they were needed to make telephone calls, which meant telephone phone booths appeared on almost every other corner.
The only thing we could imagine piercing were ears- not bellybuttons, noses, cheeks or lips.
It seemed as if only sailors got tattoos.
Dress codes were fought over. We staged protests to be allowed to wear jeans to school.
Age 50 was ancient. It was never going to happen! And now, even 50 is becoming a number in the distant past. How weird and rapid the march of time is, and we know it by how we remember the way it used to be.