Was it just the '70s, or did my parents try to kill me?
Do you fancy a bit of true crime? If so, I have a case for you to crack. The main question is this: Was it just the '70s, or did my parents try to kill me? You be the judge.
I'm turning 50 this year, and I'm starting to realize it's something of a miracle I've reached this somewhat impressive age. The ‘70s were no walk in the park. Bike helmets? Pfft! Seat belts? Double pfft! Environmental toxins? Triple pfft! You might think I'm exaggerating, but no. It's a true wonder I survived my childhood. Let me present my case.
During my entire childhood, we had this green-striped blanket on the couch. I always complained it was itchy and scratchy. Every time, my Mom would indignantly say: "But it's a Viola Gråsten!" (Viola Gråsten was a famous Finnish textile artist who was trendy back then.) So, following the logic of "No pain, no gain!" I spent most of my childhood wrapped in this itchy blanket in front of the TV.
Imagine my surprise and horror when I recently flipped through a home decor magazine and learned the blanket wasn't just itchy, it was also dipped in DDT. They used to treat these blankets with DDT to prevent moth infestations. Nowadays, you are strongly advised against even keeping them as decorations. They should go straight to a recycling centre for - brace yourselves - destruction. I kid you not! This childhood memory (Exhibit A) naturally led me to two others.
The first is a metal container (Exhibit B), which was always kept in our bike shed. It looked like something straight out of an abandoned Soviet military base in an apocalyptic video game. It was oozing God-knows-what that smeared on everything - including me - that came near it. Or rather, I have a pretty good idea of what it was. In the carefree ‘70s, my Dad was a pilot and spent the summers spraying forests with the now long-banned herbicide Hormoslyr. That container was some sort of... Well, let's call it a "souvenir" from those days. It's worth noting that Hormoslyr is a Swedish brand name for 2, 4-D. Which is pretty much the same stuff as Agent Orange, used by the Americans during the Vietnam War.
When there were too many dandelions in the garden where my brother and I played, my Dad would load an old oil can with Hormoslyr. Then, he would give each unwanted flower a little drop, after which they croaked almost immediately. We also had an overgrown slope that he occasionally soaked with a watering can filled with Hormoslyr. Afterwards, it looked like someone had gone over the vegetation with a flamethrower.
The second memory is about us swimming in the shadow of the Barsebäck nuclear power plant in southern Sweden (Exhibit C). Or rather, a few hundred meters away from it. Everyone did. For all I know, maybe they still do. Rumour had it that the water was a bit warmer there as it had been used to cool the reactor before being pumped back out. (Note: I have no idea if this was true.) This last point isn't so alarming by itself. As long as everything's working, it's all fine and dandy. However, I see a worrying pattern concerning my parents’ parenting.
Once is nothing to worry about. Twice could still be a coincidence. THREE times? Either my parents were actually trying to off me, or the "good old days" weren't all that great. What do you think? My mom gives no answers. She insists that a Viola Gråsten is still a Viola Gråsten, nobody died from a bit of Hormoslyr (well...), and a little DDT in the TV couch isn't something to make a fuss about.
What’s your verdict? Was it just the ‘70s, or were my parents trying to kill me?
Do you have any crazy stories of your own about the "good old days"? Please share!
hahahhaha South African parents in the 70’s were BANANAS. we used to leave the house as kids in the morning, head off into the bush and no one cared where we were unless it was dinner time and we weren’t home
coupled with their indoor smoking habits and driving us around whilst drunk — i’m always surprised I survived
Anna- you posed some great questions here. What I find hilarious is that parenting in the 70s is, as Jerry Seinfeld used to say: very much like having a "pet bird, aka 'As long as I don't lose them, I'm doing my job.' " Which sometimes lead me to believe: perhaps they don't mind the kids getting killed? :) Thanks for sharing this. I will be thinking about this question for the rest of the week now, Anna.