What It Was Like for You Growing Up in the 70’s?

Growing up in the 70s was a kaleidoscope of emotions, experiences, and discovery. I can still picture myself in Earth shoes, the popular footwear at the time, strutting down the street in bell-bottom, hip-hugger pants with usually a halter top. Those clothes had a way of making me feel like I could take on the world. And the park—oh, the park—was my sanctuary. With my handheld transistor radio pressed to my ear, I’d lose myself in the music, swinging back and forth, daydreaming about boys and giggling at how each day seemed to bring a new crush.

Puberty hit me like a whirlwind in the midst of it all, shaking up my world in more ways than one. That’s when Rick Tague came into my life. My brother Randy’s best friend. Rick and I didn’t just “meet” in the usual way. Oh no, Randy would sneak our parents’ car keys for him and Rick to go joy-riding. While waiting for Randy to get the keys, Rick would sneak into our bedroom window like a scene from a teenage movie. There he’d sit on my bed, the moonlight dimly illuminating the room, while we talked about everything and nothing. In those secret conversations, we got to know each other—two teenagers discovering what it meant to love, rebel, and find their way.

It was the era of rebellion, after all. A time when the sweet, mellow scent of “backyard bud” would drift through the air at any gathering. Not like today’s intense dispensary stuff, just enough to take the edge off and make the music a little groovier. It was all part of the scene. I wasn’t just rebelling against authority; I was pushing against the boundaries of who I was and who I wanted to become. I ran away from home a few times and did some hitchhiking, searching for answers in the wild, uncertain space between childhood and adulthood.

But then, everything shifted. My parents decided to put bars on my bedroom windows and locks on the doors. At the time, I felt trapped, suffocated even. But looking back, it was the turning point I needed. My dad, bless him, would take me to the library every week, letting me pick out seven books. A book a night—that summer, I devoured stories and worlds, escaping into words instead of wild nights. When I went back to school that fall, something had changed in me. I wasn’t the girl who ran with the wrong crowd anymore. I had learned to say “no,” to stand my ground, and, most importantly, to just be myself.

That was the magic of the 70s—an era of rebellion, freedom, love, and finding oneself in the most unexpected ways. It was my decade of transformation.