My father was in the hospital this week (he is doing well and back at home) but it made me think about our parents' generation. We obviously focus so much on the Bronze Age but in many ways we were children of the Golden Age. My dad shared stories from his youth and growing up in the 1940s, and I had never heard some of those tales before. From personal stories of broken bones to tidbits about the culture and era, I was captivated.
So I ask you the following - some simple and some more complicated questions about the previous generation.
QUESTION 1: Are there stories from your parents and the age in which they lived that caught your attention and gave you an understanding of how they were shaped? Were there following impacts to how you were raised?
QUESTION 2: I know as a father that I encouraged and hoped my children would be excited about some of the entertainment that I enjoyed - from comics to movies. But what literature, movies, and music did your parents impress upon you? Are some of your favorites a result of your parents' influence (directly or indirectly)? What are those books and films that "stick" with you?
QUESTION 3: Do you miss any of the traditions that your parents observed? Do you honor those traditions or do they seem to be a distant part of your life when your parents were more of an influence?
QUESTION 4: How do you feel our generation compares to that of our parents? Have we dropped the ball on any honorable aspects or have we improved upon their foundation?
QUESTION 5: Similarly to the above question, have we improved upon the creative arts over the last generation? Or are our works derivative in comparison?
Maybe this is more of an introspective post today, but since many of the BitBA gang are of the same age group I'd be curious what you have to say.
We will get back to lighter four-colored fare in the future! Cheers!
13 comments:
I am blessed that both parents are still with me and fairly healthy!
By in large, we still honor our parent's traditions in our house. But to share some things particular to my family.
(Recall, they had no TV, phones, cars, etc. yet)
My dad played baseball incessantly, ultimately trying out for St. Louis Browns(not Cardinals) in late 1950s. He made the team but said it would not have been enough $ to raise a family.
My mother, as a Hungarian immigrant, recalls her least favorite job, living in East Chicago, Indiana, was washing out the pig intestines to make sausage and one of her favorite snacks was chicken blood mixed with flour and pan fried. This is in the 1940s.
Well... baseball is a dying sport but still fairly popular.
However few kids are part of the animal butcher process any more. I think if we were to, it would be much saner and healthier world.
Lastly, I bought some issues of Don Winslow comics, from WW 2, and my dad,born in 1935, insists he recalls reading them! But comics were not a key part of their youth.
I've skipped all the hot-button things like racism, sexism, environmental destruction, WW 2, Korea, Vietnam... since I want to it to be a happy day!
I don't know-- it's a little hard to figure out where Parents: Idiosyncratic Individuals stops, and Parents: Product of Their Generation begins.
My Dad (gone a bit over 13 years, now), was born in 1935 and adopted as an infant by a nearly-elderly childless Catholic couple-- rural small farmers. And he had a tendency to associate his childhood with the decade previous to his birth-- he was forever nostalgic for an era that he was never actually a part of. Like folks born in the 70's waxing on about how much better things were in the 60's, I suppose.
I also came to a very early realization that the power of negative example was going to be his most enduring influence on me-- and that's served me well both back in my young adult/fatherhood, and as I'm ageing into senior-hood. Your question about Family Traditions has a particular resonance, with a most fulfilling resolution. My parents both had themselves deeply ensconced in the cliche'd small-town Peyton Place dynamic of our burg-- with all the attendant emotional turmoil, trauma, and scarring-- and our household was in a looooooooong state of perpetual dissolution for about 8 or 9 years. This put a damper on pretty much every holiday, to say the least. And neither parent was really built to appreciate Family Traditions, regardless.
Which I decided was NOT going to be the case in my own family's household.
As many of you have probably discovered, being the originator of "Family Traditions" is a special joy all its own--- since it's something that's nurtured from a seed of action one year. And then it gets repeated. . . and then many years down the road, you happen to catch your kids waxing on via Facebook or Youtube about these great beloved Family Traditions they've always observed, and how much they mean to them--- and you realize that, to them, the tradition is defined by their own lifetime. It only seems "new" to you because you remember starting it. To them, it's always been there, regardless of whether you started it or your Great-Grandmother did. That, to me, is the flippin' BEST feeling in the world. . .
Annnd I totally wandered OT with this, didn't I?
Ho-kay-- welp, there ya go teammates-- sorry to meander-- carry on!
HB
And
My father was born in 1927 (and died in 1999) so he used to tell me about growing up in the great depression of the 1930s and then the Second World War from 1939-45. That's a lot to live through in your first 18 years! Luckily for him World War II ended just a few weeks before he reached his 18th birthday, the age of conscription into the British armed forces - he still got conscripted but at least the war was over. My father was Scottish but he told me that one his friends was conscripted into the U.S. Army because he'd been born in America before his family had moved to Scotland!
My parents were married for 12 years before having a baby (me) and so my father was 38 when I was born and often that big age-gap really showed. He preferred music like Bing Crosby and he had no time for anything after about 1955. When I was a little kid there was an old, broken record-player lying around which had belonged to my mother, as well as a pile of LPs she no longer played. Most of the LPs were film soundtracks or the Mario Lanza Christmas Album etc but one LP was "The Beach Boys 20 Golden Greats" which was unusually cool for my mother's tastes! She said she'd bought the album for just one song - Sloop John B.
Yeah, Colin, I feel you; my dad (who's still around) was born in 1932 in the North of England, so a lot of his stories were about the War Years (like how kids had to take gas masks to school, except he hated carrying his mask so he used to shove it down a rabbit hole on the way to school and pick it up afterwards!); my mom was born in 1939 in Saskatchewan, so her memories were about growing up on a farm, attending a one-room schoolhouse and cheering for the Brooklyn Dodgers (she loved Jackie Robinson).
As far as generational differences in the arts, I think it's too soon to tell. I don't really see anyone around now who I can imagine having the staying power of a Picasso or Hemingway or Elvis (or Lee/Ditko/Kirby), but who knows what people 50 years from now will be into? Some obscure writer or singer could have a nostalgic revival, or be "discovered" long after their time.
I had parents born in the mid-1930s as well, but also from the Balkans, so, yep, stories about WW2 (not much fighting near them, but Nazis garrisoned in the town closest to their village) as well as the postwar establishment and consolidation of a communist regime and all of the hardships associated with that.
Can't say that my parents really influenced my own preferences for the type of cultural products/entertainment I consumed, unless it was a case of doing just the opposite. I think I've mentioned before (at the BAB at least) that my dad was really into HeeHaw (every Saturday evening) while my mom liked the Lawrence Welk Show (Sunday evenings) - both shows usually drove me to shut myself in my room and read comics. Outside of that, they liked Croatian folk music, which they listened to sometimes (they had a few records) - I've ran hot and cold on that stuff at various points in my life, but now I'm mostly indifferent to it. My older siblings initially had more influence on me in the sense of what music I listened to or what I watched on TV.
My mother was born in '32, my father, '33. He passed in 75, she in '11. My mother was born at home, my dad was born in a town so small, it no longer exists. The sign for the town was nailed to a tree with an arrow. The sign lasted longer than the town. She used to tell us that Christmas mornings, she would wake up and there would be fruit and shoes at the foot of the bed. Her sister, her twin and she all shared a bed. I don't know how long that lasted...
My mother was painfully shy and very introverted. My grandfather wanted them to lay out their clothes the night before to help getting on the way in the morning. Her sister, the twin, would often put on her clothes, causing my mother to crumple in a heap. This often resulted in a wrestling match as her sister tried to get my mother's clothes off her twin.
My mother graduated in 1950. She was the last class before the two towns merged into one school district. She told us stories of how they would paint lines on the back of their legs to look like nylons. I could never picture my mother at dances. Personal note, my freshmen class was split to open the new high school. When I graduated in '83, the towns were back to two high schools!!! I know! Right?
My mother loved going to the movies. When we were older and had cable, she would always watch "Lilies Of Field" and "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings". Dad was stationed in France during the 60s. That's where Mom saw Cleopatra, the European version! Whenever it came on the TV, Mom never let us watch it. I think I was in college before I saw that movie...
End part 1...
When my mother graduated in '50, she and her sister were expected to get jobs. My Grandfather had built a home in town so they weren't country people anymore and town was where the jobs were. If you remember, my Mother was painfully shy. Both her sister and her twin were studying to be nurses. By the end of it, out of the eight kids, four became nurses and my uncle married a nurse. Back to getting a job. Mom had set up an appointment but as the time came, her shyness got the better of her. Her twin put on her clothes, went for the interview and got the job. Mom showed up for work the next day and worked there for almost 10 years.
One of the things that grandfather bought for the family was a radio. Mom was a fan of many of the radio soap operas and transitioned to watching them on TV. Summers meant not only a break from school but catching up on soaps. I think that's what made comics so appealing to me. It was just another form of "episodic entertainment". College for me included breaks in my schedule to watch "Days of Our Lives", my mother's favorite, and "Ryan's Hope", mine. Once my roommate and I got a VCR, midnight meant soaps and pizza!!!
Last story...
Fall meant corn harvest. Some relation of ours still had a working farm. Harvest time meant picking corn, husking corn and packing it away. The bad husks went to the pigs. The first cold snap meant pig slaughter time and after this, tamale making time!!! Tamales, when I was growing up, was only a Christmas time delicacy. And they didn't last long!!!
As I think back, I think the guy who owned the farm put the roof on Grandfather's house he built in town. I don't think we were related...
(Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl
Nighttime would find me in Rosa's cantina
Music would play and Felina would whirl
Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina
Wicked and evil while casting a spell
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden
I was in love but in vain, I could tell
One night a wild young cowboy came in
Wild as the West Texas wind
Dashing and daring, a drink he was sharing
With wicked Felina, the girl that I loved
So in anger I
Challenged his right for the love of this maiden
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore
My challenge was answered in less than a heartbeat
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor
Just for a moment I stood there in silence
Shocked by the foul evil deed I had done
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there
I had but one chance and that was to run
Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran
Out where the horses were tied
I caught a good one, it looked like it could run
Up on its back and away I did ride
Just as fast as I
Could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the badlands of New Mexico
Back in El Paso my life would be worthless
Everything's gone in life; nothing is left
It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death
I saddled up and away I did go
Riding alone in the dark
Maybe tomorrow, a bullet may find me
Tonight nothing's worse than this pain in my heart
And at last here I
Am on the hill overlooking El Paso
I can see Rosa's cantina below
My love is strong and it pushes me onward
Down off the hill to Felina I go
Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys
Off to my left ride a dozen or more
Shouting and shooting, I can't let them catch me
I have to make it to Rosa's back door
Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side
Though I am trying to stay in the saddle
I'm getting weary, unable to ride
But my love for
Felina is strong and I rise where I've fallen
Though I am weary I can't stop to rest
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest
From out of nowhere Felina has found me
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for
One little kiss and Felina, goodbye).
My father was born in 1931, and passed away just three years ago. My mother, fortunately, is still around; doing fairly well. Like most of the parents we've heard about today, they both grew up during the war years. Many stories were shared of the depression-era sacrifices, war rationing, and so on. Dad was a huge science buff, and photos abound of him surrounded by chemistry equipment. Years later his love of science rubbed off on me as well. I'll always be grateful to him for introducing me to astronomy, geology, chemistry and archaeology. And whenever I see the constellations in the sky, I remember him pointing them out and naming them.
Dad also shared stories about the comic books he read as a boy in the forties. All hi books ended up in the wartime paper drives, though. His interest was piqued when I started collecting comics and revealed how collectible his former possessions now were. He actually picked up a few vintage comics himself at a flea market we attended one day.
Mom has always been more introverted, and that kind of rubbed off on me too. Both her parents died during her childhood, her mother actually passed during childbirth. So she had many stories of challenging times as she went through youth and into adulthood. Perhaps that was why she so ardently devoted herself to supporting my siblings and me in our various youthful pursuits.
Like Edo's parents, mine both loved Hee Haw and Lawrence Welk. The Sunday nights with Lawrence were beyond counting. When I was little I dutifully sat and watched with the grown-ups, but once I got older I recused myself to (again like Edo) read comics in my room. But they both also were lovers of music, especially classical, 50's crooners and show tunes. Many of those old melodies now reside on my computer; this apple didn't fall far from the tree.
There is one "tradition" I still observe.
Neither of my parents drank alcohol except at Christmas when we'd have Babycham, and beer which we mixed with lemonade to make shandy. I still have Babycham and home-made shandy at Christmas because it wouldn't seem like a proper Christmas otherwise!
Prowler, my mother was also born in 1932. If your father died in 1975 you must have been about 10? (I'm guessing your age from previous comments) - that's so young to lose your dad.
Thanks for all of the wonderful stories. I really enjoyed them all.
Yep, this was a very worthwhile exercise in sharing, Marti--- thanks for providing us the opportunity---
HB
Sorry to be coming to this post a few days late.....
My dad was born in 1937 in Alabama. He moved to Mississippi when he was probably 12 or 13. In the back of a comic book he was reading one spring, there was an ad for baby raccoons for something like $2, so he and a buddy pooled their resources and ordered one. Back then, where he lived, things were delivered via rail, so they would go down every day and wait for the train to come. They were prepared for their new pet, having build a "pen" to keep it in and keeping it secreted about halfway between their houses.
When the raccoon finally arrived, they were a bit surprised to find out that he wasn't what one would call a "baby" raccoon. Actually my dad said he looked to be about a year old. He was wearing a collar and he was none too happy when they unloaded the box from the train. Somehow, they got the ticked-off raccoon to their pen and got him in it, where they tried to feed it and care for it as best they could.
Back then, in Mississippi, there was very little air conditioning, so most folks slept with the windows open during the summer. Through his window, he heard a lot of commotion outside and being a 12-13 year old at the time, he crawled out of the window to see what was going on. There was a grocery store about a block from his house at an intersection. Back then, most stores around there were in two-story buildings with the family living on the top floor and the business being on the bottom The store owner had heard a loud racket downstairs and went to investigate. When he did, he discovered that his store had been ransacked from one end to the other, so he called the police. Turns out my dad's new pet had gotten out of his pen and decided to check out the neighborhood. When the police arrived, they spotted him in the store, still pissed, and put him out of his, and everyone else's, misery. When they brought him outside, my dad heard somebody say, "That dang coon has a collar on," and he promptly returned to his house.
What amazed me about this story was that a kid in a small town was pretty much on his own most of the time back then, because, basically, you knew everyone in your area and they could be counted on to straighten you out if you got out of line. I was amazed that my dad was able to do all of this for an extended period and his parents NEVER found out about it. When I was a kid, a lot of the things were the same way, but not to that extent. Today, it's kind of like most kids are smothered by their parents......mainly because you don't know your neighbors as well as you used to....families don't stay in the same small town after they grow up anymore and new families move in.
I have tried to share some of the things I liked to do as a kid with my children.....such as comic books, adventure stories, music, and old TV shows. They've both gotten involved in comics to an extent, not as much as I did, but they do like the same stories that I liked, not so much any of the new stuff. A lot of this was thanks to the super hero motion pictures that are so popular today. They both like the music that I like, mostly.
Again, sorry to be so late posting here, but I love the story about my dad and the raccoon. He's quite a spinner of yarns, as you might imagine, but that's his best one for sure.
Graham- terrific story; thanks for passing it along! Ordering raccoons from the back of a comic book? Havent' heard of that one. I have seen puppies, tiny monkeys and Sea Monkeys advertised; but never a raccoon...
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