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Family Vacation Reflections The family vacation was a tradition for many in America long before Boomers got on the scene, but the number of families who could afford to take a vacation increased rapidly after WWII. Getting away, whether it was for a weekend, a week or two weeks, became a tradition, and every summer hundreds of thousands of families headed for the family cabin, a relative's house, a camp ground, the beach, a roadside motel or a hotel. We share a few of our own stories of family vacations and asked fellow boomers to share their stories about hitting the road when they were kids—the good, the bad and, especially, the funny. Check out Bonding in the Woods for a discussion of family camping and Car Games to jog your memories of car trips and for ideas on games to play along the way this year. Also, see our piece on postcards, a great way to record, connect with others back home and look back on your summer vacation. Whether you hang out in the backyard, head for the cabin or somewhere more exotic this summer, we wish you great memories-in-the-making! Family vacation memories: |
"Reflections" is a special area devoted to sharing memories. This section basically is written by our readers. Next month's topic is "First Day of School Memories." If you'd like to share a memory with the Boomerang community, please send it to us by email . Write between 100 and 200 words and, if you like, scan in an old first-day-school photo to include. We reserve the right to edit things down so that we can include memories from as many people as possible. We hope that each month’s theme will offer an opportunity for discussion—conversation starters if you will—with our families, friends and coworkers. |
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with Dad When it was time to sleep, I took my gum out and stuck it on the tent pole. There was no other spot for it, and I didn’t want to get up and fumble around in the dark tent. When I woke up in the morning, my head was glued to the tent pole—stuck fast by the gum. My aunt had to give me a new haircut in order to free me from the gum’s grip. —Roxy Boomwinkle (boomer cred: born 1958)
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We were visiting relatives in New York City for a long weekend and stayed in the old and elegant Taft Hotel. That evening at the hotel Guy Lombardo and his band were playing. Since I was five, this meant very little to me but my mom was visibly thrilled. When the band took a break, Mr. Lombardo sat down at a table and ordered. My mom whispered to me to go over to his table and say "hello." Now, this was strange, because usually I wasn't allowed to talk to strangers. So, I went over and said "hi." The nice man asked me to sit down and asked if I'd eaten. I had, but asked if I could have some of the little cheesy crackers I spied on his table. He happily shared. I thanked him and went back to my table. He waved to us, and I figured that was about the end of my brush with celebrity. Later, though, he invited my baby brother and I up on stage where we were each given a maraca and invited to shake it with the band! —Susan M., Hershey, PA (boomer cred: born 1956) |
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Our family headed to Cape Cod in the summer and rented a cabin at a place called the Silver Sands cottages near Hyannis. We always had a blast, walking on the beach, makiing sand castles, collecting shells (once we found a huge conch shell which I still have on my shelf). There was a great lobster restaurant near the beach and one night when I was about six, my dad said we could all go. It was a big deal for my parents not to get a babysitter for us, so we were thrilled. When we got there everyone was so nice, as if children were a novelty (I'm sure they weren't but it did seem like an "adult" restaurant not the usual Howard Johnson's we frequented). The chef himself came out and asked if I'd like to chose my own lobster. He took me to the kitchen where there was a huge tank. For some reason I didn't make the connection about what would happen next, so I pointed to the lobster and another chef took it out and dropped it into a pot. It squealed (at least I could swear I hear it) and, of course, I screamed. I think I ate spaghetti that night. —Betty Boom (boomer cred: born 1955) |
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An international exchange on the way to Montreal When we were little, my parents took us across the US and then into Canada by train. We took a train from Albany, I think, to Montreal. On the train I met a girl about my age. We wanted to play, it was clear to both of us, but I didn't speak much French and she didn't speak much English. So we got her mother to translate for us. She could sing some songs in English ("You Are My Sunshine" was one) and I did a pretty good "Frère Jacque" and the Singing Nun's song so we spent most of the time singing to each other and teaching each other the words. —Mike, San Francisco, CA (boomer cred: born 1961) |
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Reflecting
