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Fernando Crotte
False Starts : Mistakes amp; Missteps Growing Up in the 70¿s
False Starts : Mistakes amp; Missteps Growing Up in the 70¿s
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I recently opened up my chest of childhood memories, faced a decade I had long since forgotten, and wrote these words:
¿It was the hippest of times. It was the funkiest of times. It was the 1970s.¿
And I grew up right there in the middle of it. I won talent shows. I went to camp. I fought the school bully for the honor of the girl I loved. I lost my father¿
But having just turned 50, I decided the time had come to take an honest look at those years without the tinted lens of nostalgia, which allowed me to remember so much more. I never told the girl I defended that I loved her. I barely survived camp. No amount of talent show victories brought my father back and, to be honest, my memories weren¿t as accurate as I thought they were.
The 70¿s were a swirling minefield filled with a family destroyed by poverty and divorce, horrible TV shows, bad disco on AM radio, wretched food¿ and the only saving grace a child like me had was Pong. My teachers tried to put me on drugs. My sister taught me the art of shoplifting. My best friend was Burp Boy. Life was a series of constant set-backs, a barrage of defeats, embarrassments, and false starts.
And I wouldn¿t change a thing.
¿It was the hippest of times. It was the funkiest of times. It was the 1970s.¿
And I grew up right there in the middle of it. I won talent shows. I went to camp. I fought the school bully for the honor of the girl I loved. I lost my father¿
But having just turned 50, I decided the time had come to take an honest look at those years without the tinted lens of nostalgia, which allowed me to remember so much more. I never told the girl I defended that I loved her. I barely survived camp. No amount of talent show victories brought my father back and, to be honest, my memories weren¿t as accurate as I thought they were.
The 70¿s were a swirling minefield filled with a family destroyed by poverty and divorce, horrible TV shows, bad disco on AM radio, wretched food¿ and the only saving grace a child like me had was Pong. My teachers tried to put me on drugs. My sister taught me the art of shoplifting. My best friend was Burp Boy. Life was a series of constant set-backs, a barrage of defeats, embarrassments, and false starts.
And I wouldn¿t change a thing.
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