I can’t help but laugh when I come across these baby-boomer advertisements from the 50’s and 60’s, and wonder … Was ignorance really bliss? For those of us born during that time period and before, how did we escape the perils of such lackadaisical societal-incorrectness?

Without trotting out my “I’m officially old” handbook, I realize it is a much different world now than the one I lived in as a kid, and there are so many more perils to be aware of these days, but I recall, as do so many kids of my generation, flying by the seat of my pants and landing in bed at night, limbs intact and a smile on my face.

Some things from my childhood I remember that would likely be taboo present day:

• Never wearing a seat belt when I was a kid. I can’t remember … were cars even equipped with them back then? I remember sitting in my mother’s car, she in the driver’s seat gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead as if she were maneuvering the Starship Enterprise, and me in the back, rolling around like a loose melon.  Not only did I roll around, I twisted around and flipped while I stared out the back window, coyly waving to the other drivers.

• Going to the park around the corner, all by myself. I would skip out the door, sometimes telling my mother where I was going, sometimes not, and head off to “the park” where I was sure to meet up with some of my friends. We knew it was time to go home when the 7pm fire whistle blew and the sound of a mother’s voice filled the air. We made it home without the threat of being kidnapped.

• Running up the block to the local Italian deli on a Sunday afternoon to pick up the forgotten can of tomatoes my mother needed for Sunday dinner, and rewarding myself with a handful of candy while I was there. My candy of choice? Those fantastic, pink bubble-gum cigarettes, individually wrapped in white rolling paper and packaged in an almost too-realistic carton. I would pretend puff away before finally chomping down on the gum, as any junior sophisticato would.

I didn’t drink 7-Up in my milk but I did drink it the “Italian” way, with a dollop of red wine … a delightful pink concoction that was created by filling a tall highball glass with ice and soda, then kissed with a splash of burgundy and swirled with your finger for good luck.  Life was good and so was the Sunday pasta.

From one loose melon to another, keep on truckin’.