A Sixties Summerby Eva Pasco 
Who would have thought a metal
folding chair would impact my recollection of Summer in
the Sixties? That's right...a cold, shallow,
beige chair with a set of jaws to spawn its
own macabre tale...
Once upon a time
in Sixties Suburbia stay-at-home moms ruled the roost.
Our blue and white collar dads drove off to work in the
family car, leaving behind their wives and children to
fend for themselves. Aproned crusaders wielded mops and
vacuums, prepared dinner, gossiped on the telephone,
or socialized with kindred housewives over cups
of coffee. As far as I can remember,
none of these heads of household ever wore
a shirtwaist dress, heels, and beads adopted by June
Cleaver in Leave it to Beaver. No car at their
disposal, let alone a driver's license, there was no such
thing as chauffering us kids to play dates, soccer practice, or
ballet recitals. Instead, we played
outdoors, hooking up with other kids in the
neighborhood within lunchtime calling
distance.
My sister and I
spent many Sixties summer days across the street
with friends who harbored the rambunctious St.
Bernard. One of our favorite pasttimes was that of
playing Monopoly which constituted a perfect respite
from hot or rainy days. We'd sit around a card
table on folding chairs inside the
garage, moving our tokens past go, waiting to get out of
jail, or perchance landing on Marvin Gardens to buy
it. No one could have foreseen how one idyllic afternoon
would become monopolized by a gruesome
incident.
Somewhere in the
midst of paying exorbitant rents and mortgaging hotels, my
sister uttered a plaintive cry. Apparently the jaws of
her folding chair latched onto an index finger. All
of us panicked for a fleeting second, but my adrenalin surfaced to
save my sister from the clutches of this metal
monster. Without thinking, I tugged at
her finger, and worst of all, ended up squeezing those jaws
even tighter, causing a piece of her skin to fly into the
air. My sister screeched through my frantic attempts to
extricate the finger, now mangled and bloodied. My friend
kept her cool, commanded me to stop, and opened the folding
chair to release its grip.
By
then our mother heard the terrifying screams, came
running, swooped up my sister, and spirited her away to
safety. Though one of the bloodiest days to live
in Sixties infamy, my sister felt a whole lot better
after our mom kissed her wound and dabbed it
with Mercurochrome before Dad came home from work and asked what we
were up to.
Copies of Underlying Notes by
Eva Pasco may be purchased here:
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.jpg "The 60s - Carl - 1968 - Vietnam")
