Long before lassoing our first girlfriends and wives, Saturday nights were reserved for “the boys” and were always tough to fill. Oh sure, we could have gone to the movies or played miniature golf, but what would be the point of that? What kind of memories would we create by spending an entire evening at the Rivoli Theater or the Putt Putt miniature golf course? There would be plenty of time for that later when we were old and in our 30s. With nothing to do and no money to do it, we typically congregated in the back of the parking lot shared by the Big Donut and the Pup…
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My First Trip Over the Curb Why drive on the road, when you have all this empy curb?
During the 1950s, a driver’s license ranked way up there, along with circumcisions or Bar mitzvahs, signaling a young man had come of age. My father dreaded the day I’d be eligible for my learner’s permit. If it were up to him, he would have preferred celebrating my manhood with a bizarre tattoo or tying me down to an anthill. Nevertheless, it was time for me to get behind the wheel and there was nothing he could do about it. After spending the day in the Department of Motor Vehicles, I finally broke free waving my learner’s permit high above my head. I asked my mom if I could celebrate…
