Back when we received the latest news and gossip from the local café, hair salon or Wednesday night prayer meeting. Back when your parents told you to find your own way to a church- or school-related function. Ride your bike (without a helmet) or ride on your friend’s bike handlebars (without a helmet). Hitch-hike and ride with a stranger. Our parents didn’t care, as long as they didn’t have to drive us there themselves.
Even our bubble gum was brazen. Like Big League Chew. And you weren’t cool unless you had a bubble gum cigar or cigarette hanging out of your mouth. One word: Pop Rocks. What the heck was that candy made of? It would literally explode and pop in your mouth like some type of drain cleaner mixed with Comet scrub. I’m surprised I even had teeth past the age of 9 with candies like Airheads, Nerds, little wax bottles with Coca-Cola in them and Atomic Fireballs. As if we weren’t jacked up enough, we would wash all that down with Mello Yello, Yoo-Hoo or Orange Slice. Unless your mom was trying to watch her weight, and you drank TaB cola.
We could eat and drink whatever we wanted. Why? Because if we were good and did all our chores, we were allowed to go exercise on Friday nights with all our friends at the roller-skating rink. Roller skating is actually ice skating for poor people. When I put on those roller skates, I became an animal. I resembled a young baby calf trying to stand up for the first time. Weebles wobble, and I always fell down. Why did they make us give I.D. and a deposit to rent skates? Was there a rash of roller skate thefts in the country? I swear the same people that made grocery shopping carts made the roller skates. Seems like I always had that one wheel on my skates that would lock up for no reason or would turn sideways while I was trying to go straight.
I’ll never forget during a “couples-only skate” about halfway through Air Supply (Not when I breathed, but the actual band Air Supply), I was caught up in the song “I’m All Out of Love.” Over the speakers from the DJ booth came a loud noise saying, “Couples-only skate, fat boy! Get off the floor!” That scared me so bad I thought Tonya Harding was getting ready to take me out. The only exit was on the opposite side of the rink. I’m trying to make my way through hand-holding couples, falling down and bumping into people. I looked like a human game of “Frogger” on mushrooms cutting through traffic. Just as the couples skate ended, I made it to the carpet on the other side. From the speakers once again, I heard the DJ say, “Hey, fat boy! This song is dedicated to you, from Queen, “Another One Bites the Dust.” Ahh, the good ol’ days. 
To all my Wisconsin peeps – Saturday, July 13, 2019. I have two shows at Potawatomi Casinos, Milwaukee. For tickets: Tim the Dairy Farmer - Tickets
