Little House on the Subdivided Plot
The only television show that rivaled my obsession for Nancy Drew when I was growing up was Little House on the Prairie. I wanted to BE spunky little Laura – although my personality, through and through, was goody two shoes Mary.
Even more appealing to me than the television series, though, was the book series. One thing that now amazes me as an adult was the ability of Laura Ingalls Wilder to not only remember her childhood in such detail, but to have the foresight that these stories might be interesting to other people. Many of the real-life tales in the books must have seemed like mundane every-day experiences for her generation. But now, we can’t believe that people would save up for glass window panes or be excited about oranges and a tin cup in their Christmas stockings. And the dangers of Indians and wild wolves that surround your house are absolutely foreign to those of us who grew up in Soccer Mom Suburbia.
I figure my life, too, is going to seem amazing to future generations. I mean, look at how much has changed since the 60’s.
For example, recently the battery on my car key died. Not my car – the key. Now, just think how odd that sentence would have sounded back in the day. Not the Prairie Days. The Scary, Hairy Days of the Hippies. About when I was born.
Anyway, fortunately my car still has an actual lock into which I can stick the key, so I have been using that. Dimples, however, keeps forgetting that I cannot unlock the car from a mile away. So, she hits the car running 20 mph, yanks the door, and falls flat on her butt when it doesn’t open. (She and Wonderbutt both seem to have problems with doors.)
Yesterday, she complained, “I’m tired of having to wait for you to unlock the door,” as I turned my key right and opened all of the locks.
I raised my eyebrows (at least it felt like that was what I did), and smirked. “Kid, how would you like to wait while I opened the door with my key, sat my butt down in the driver’s seat, settled my purse on the seat, forgot you were there, put my seatbelt on, closed my door, started the car, heard you tapping on the window, remembered you were there, took my seatbelt off, leaned over behind the passenger seat, and reached with the tips of my fingers to pull up a little thingamabob on your door to unlock it?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“That’s right, Missy. That’s how things used to be when I was a kid.”
“Was that back when Aunt Crash opened her door while your mom was driving and almost fell out of the car?”
“Yep. Those were hard, scary times. No child safety locks, no car seats, and no seatbelt laws. It’s amazing we survived.”
Okay, so it wasn’t wolves and Indians. But some day it might seem interesting.
Posted on January 19, 2012, in Children, Crash, Dimples, Family, Humor, Parenting, Relationships and tagged car, humor, Indians, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairie, soccer moms, wolves. Bookmark the permalink. 35 Comments.