At 18
What I Was Like When I Was 18
For most of the people in this group, they don’t have to think back very far, but for me it was just over 3 decades ago. That would be somewhere around 1972. My hair was blonde and like Cher’s—waist long and straight. I was Twiggy-like skinny. Not skinny because I dieted but quite the opposite. I could eat everything in sight and not gain an ounce. That’s probably when my thyroid was burning itself out. I weighted a whopping 90 pounds at 5’2.
We all wore bell-bottom, hip hugger blue jeans. Guys were either enlisting or being drafted into the military and sent to Vietnam. Nixon was president. I was in college. The legal drinking age was 18 then so occasionally I would go out drinking and dancing with friends. I still lived at home.
VSC students complained about the parking problem—not enough places close enough to the campus. The pedestrian overpass had been built over Oak Street and we complained that it was too physically demanding.
My sister would have been the age that her daughter is now. I barely remember my sister as a kid. Vague recollections from old photographs.
At 18, I was silly, quiet, playful, naïve, clueless, but knew-it-all nonetheless. Smart enough to stay away from drugs.
For most of the people in this group, they don’t have to think back very far, but for me it was just over 3 decades ago. That would be somewhere around 1972. My hair was blonde and like Cher’s—waist long and straight. I was Twiggy-like skinny. Not skinny because I dieted but quite the opposite. I could eat everything in sight and not gain an ounce. That’s probably when my thyroid was burning itself out. I weighted a whopping 90 pounds at 5’2.
We all wore bell-bottom, hip hugger blue jeans. Guys were either enlisting or being drafted into the military and sent to Vietnam. Nixon was president. I was in college. The legal drinking age was 18 then so occasionally I would go out drinking and dancing with friends. I still lived at home.
VSC students complained about the parking problem—not enough places close enough to the campus. The pedestrian overpass had been built over Oak Street and we complained that it was too physically demanding.
My sister would have been the age that her daughter is now. I barely remember my sister as a kid. Vague recollections from old photographs.
At 18, I was silly, quiet, playful, naïve, clueless, but knew-it-all nonetheless. Smart enough to stay away from drugs.
posted by Buttercup at
2:41 PM
2 Comments:
I've never been associated with a college where students didn't complain about parking: FSU, VSU (and VSC), Bainbridge, UGA, ABAC. I don't think it's a Southern thing, just a convenience thing. Maybe I'm just cynical.
By
Donna Sewell, at 7:16 PM
This is true. Just my way of demonstrating that some things never change. As the old Sonny and Cher song says: "and the beat goes on..."
By
Buttercup, at 1:32 AM
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