Yep, this was me, too many years ago that I wish to admit. I look at this photo and ask myself how did forty-five years fly by so quickly? It almost seems impossible.
The year was 1970. The place: Brighton, Michigan. I was heading to work and my mother snapped this after telling me to strike a pose. No I wasn’t going to work on the nearest street corner. Yes, it was a mini dress and I was working as a barmaid/bartender at the local watering hole. If you are too naive to understand that short skirts and low cut tops increases the tip jar at the end of the shift, then you probably are a feminist or too young to work. My weekly paycheck after taxes netted out to about $52. I made three or four times that amount in tips most weeks. I was in high cotton for the time. (I was doing well)
I was still living at home, had no real bills, and thought I knew everything. Wow, I was dumb! I suppose most adults look back at their lives at that age and probably think the same things.
I spent my afternoons riding motorcycles, going to the beach, or just sleeping until time to get ready for work. I went to work at five in the evening. Why I ever thought being an adult was easy I have no clue. Being responsible turned out to be hard work too.
However, this was the year before I escaped being both an adult and responsible by taking off on a cross-country pool playing adventure with my husband. I learned a lot that year and a half. I saw things I never wanted to see again. I experienced life at its best and at its darkest. We had plenty of money and we went broke. I laughed and I cried. I was bold and fearless but also scared out of my mind.
I came back to Michigan a little wiser but still far from being grown up. I suppose I’m a hard learner. Nope, I learned everything the hard way. I still need things to beat me over the head a few times before they sink in.
Six years later I was divorced, had a two year old, and was working for an oil company which would start a twenty-five year career in management.
My only regret on the years from 1969 – 1979 was that I failed to keep a journal. I always wondered who would want to read about this crap. Now I’m trying to write from memories. That’s harder than being an adult.