That 70s Life

When I woke up this morning, I didn't suspect that the day would end with a rite of passage for me. While listening to a radio program about the 1970s (yes, almost a half century ago), my nine-year-old perked up his ears when he heard the term 'Pet Rock.' I laughed and said, "Wow, the 70s! I was a kid in the 70s!"

"You WERE??" my son asked, incredulous.

"Sure!"

"Did you have a pet rock?"

"Yeah, actually, I did," I smirked.

"Oh my god, THAT IS SO LAME!" he managed to squeak out between peals of laughter.

And in that one instant, I officially became an old fart in my child's eyes.

"What did you DO with it??" he asked, now an eager little rubbernecker to the obviously pitiful car wreck that was my childhood definition of 'fun.'

"Well, I seem to recall it came with a leash..."

More screams of laughter.

"And I would pour water on it and then take it out for a walk. Er, a drag."

I had to stop there and let him catch his breath. The poor kid, owner of a newly minted Nintendo DS Lite and shiny iPod Nano, was now turning a lovely shade of blue for lack of oxygen. Indeed, how could he wrap his new-millennium-brain around the concept of a pet rock?

"Did you ever trip on your pet rock and rip your bell-bottoms?"

"Eh, no, but that would indeed have been a drag."

"Yeah, you would have had to figure out what else you could wear to the disco! Haaaa ha ha ha!!"

Now realizing I was being blatantly mocked, I assured him that his children would one day have a field day over his growing up in a house with "wires" and listening to "FM radio" with "commercials" on it. Taking what was left of my dignity, I kissed him and slipped out of the room, humming the theme song from an old t.v. show:

Welcome back, your dreams were your ticket out.

Welcome back, to that same old place that you laughed about....