Remember those times when we were all young,
when parents were agile, and almost seemed fun,
when the cares of the world were not our concern,
and every new day, we had something to learn?

When laughing like fools was all we got done,
and thinking love-partners could be the true one,
when cruising down main street was such a big thrill,
and gettin’ in trouble seemed not a big deal?

When friends were forever—for we scoffed then at dying,
and we drifted thru’ school without really trying.
And how ‘bout those parties we couldn’t pass by
sneaking out with our buddies in the park—on the sly?

Pop-music so great, we danced every dance,
not caring which partner—just glad for the chance.
Elvis, Sedaka, the Everly brothers,
a time to bind friendships, and relate to each other?

We hung out after school at Boyd’s old café,
spending our nickels in that jukebox we’d play,
talking and laughing with kids in our group,
feeling sorry for ones not quite in the loop.

Burgers and shakes with fries on the side,
and Sally Belle’s sundaes she made with great pride.
For less than a dollar, we could have a night out—
kids of that day know what I’m talkin’ about.

Our cars all lined up at Michelson’s Drive-In,
with noise and shouting, we made such a din,
but people all knew it was innocent fun
as we drove Winthrop rivals from our town on the run.

The cop on the street might be called the “Town Clown”
but he could straighten us out with a glare or a frown.
He was the law, and that’s all it took
to send our butts packin’ with one sideways look.

Fear was our captor—it worked fine in our time,
it kept our nose clean—not out doing some crime.
Curfews were practiced—I wish they still were,
but laws are so lax now, it all seems just a blur.

But kids will be kids, and we sure had a blast—
I only wish now it wasn’t far in the past.
I long for my brothers, my friends, and my youth,
sippin’ a soda, playing songs in a booth.

Oh, just for one peek way back in lost time
when life was so simple, and seemed quite sublime,
when moral and civil rules weren‘t so obscure—
and folks knew their darlings weren’t always pure.

Is it all just a dream, or did those times exist?
Does my memory grow stronger, or weak with a twist?
In old age does it seem, “Those were the days,”
or only sweet memories glorified in new ways?


Tamara Hillman
©2008