Posted on 04/20/2012 12:46:56 PM PDT by US Navy Vet
...what was the most POSITIVE Nostalgic memory all of you have from your Childhood.
Summers down the.Jersey shore long before there was a “Jersey Shore”.
You crack me up....
I dunno - might’ve hurt my crazed-loner cred. ;^)
If teen years count, seeing the Who, Janis Joplin, The Byrds, the Kinks, Jimi Hendrix, the Young Rascals, The Zombies, Mamas and Papas, Iron Butterfly, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Herman’s hermits, and about 200 more groups in concert. Ok so I am old. /Sticks out tongue.
It is kind of fun showing them it was the other way around.
Favorite childhood memory, the summer we spent on my uncles farm. 14 cousins, ducks, goats, horses, cows, a big ol barn, woods and a crick. Three months of pure heaven.
LOL, I have a lot of fond childhood memories that involve food.
Seeing President Reagan speak at the University of Alabama and then going to the airport to witness that the C-141 Starlifter that carried the Secret Service cars had sunk through the tarmac up to the fuselage lol. It had 6 secret service cars and the aircraft support truck along with a full load of fuel and was ready to takeoff, but pulled into the wrong area of the tarmac and sank. You cound not see it’s landing gear. They were completely underground. It took 3 days to dig the plane out and was aided by huge airbags they placed under the wings to lift it up. An army tank and D9 Caterpiller then pulled it to solid ground. I am sure there were a lot of red faces.
I remember committing my first felony. I turned 14 later that summer.
Damn, you just described my sublime setting I would like to retire to one day. I grew up in New York city, still here in New York city and I absolutely hate it and cannot wait to get the F out and move to my own farm down south which I have been saving for these past 30 years. But the kids, and especially the Despotism I live under with Mike Bloomberg as the Despot seems to always cut into that nest egg. Sort of like climbing a ladder and the top rungs always get kicked away and I slide back down. I would literally, seiously, as I tell you now, donate a kidney and a lung to live down south on a farm. Living under Despotism is hell on earth, there is no other way to describe it.
Definitely! No better combo.
A robin filled nest in a maple tree near the fork I read books in.
You know what’s funny, what got me into that whole south farm vision was when I saw Smokey and the Bandit in 1977 when Burt Reynolds drives up to Jerry Reeds house and there is this big old tree in the front yard with a tire swing and Jerrys rig is parked at the side. That blew my mind. To have that much room. Ever since then I’ve actually gone down to Georgia quite a few times and looked on in envy. I’m 50 now and can’t believe it. 3 decades have flown by like a hurricane with a rocket and I find myself getting more and more depressed I may never realize my dream. But that’s what living under Despotism does to a person.
It was Christmas Eve, and I was six years old, anticipating a visit from Santa. I had accompanied my parents(sans siblings) on a last minute grocery trip, as we awaited relatives from far flung places. My father stopped at this old German bakery, and as we mulled over the beautifully decorated cookies, it began to snow heavily. Looking out the window as it glistened against the holiday lights, I felt I would burst with excitement over it all. I was suddenly overcome with emotion I was too young to articulate, but I recall feeling enveloped by the utter love and protection of my parents, and in that moment all was right with the world.
It was one of those rare, magical moments one never forgets.
we’d do it secretly of course. you do have a reputation to uphold and I would respect that at age 9. contemplating the big stuff like lends itself to covertness anyway. So that upholds the crazed loner cred me thinks. :). I loved crazed loners. Still do. Just make sure gun is loaded just in case they are the real deal. haha.
Smoking weed on 4/20.
I’m impressed - you’ve obviously given this some thought.
No point in an unloaded gun, of course.
We were too far away to actually attend a game (Indy). Must have been something to see Sparky Anderson, Johnny Bench & the boys!
Still, I wouldn’t trade a moment with the crackly old radio and Dad in the overheated garage, while mom tore her hair out in the air-conditioned house.
Those times with Dad & the Reds made me the baseball fan I am today (alas, they also made me the beer drinker I am, too. LOL)
As for Dad, he passed away in 08 - our last time together alone as father and daughter was in the hospital, watching the Indians beat Boston (he wasn’t a Cleveland fan, but he loved seeing the BoSox lose). Glad the last game he watched made him smile (and I snuck him his last ever beer).
Somehow, it just seemed right.
Same here. Easy to gut, slice open the belly then snap the legs and the inards went flying! Made a knife sheath out of the skin. Shot mine with a Winchester 1890s pump .22 (now a big collector item).
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