Christmas, 1971. (large) 1971 Sears Wishbook I was 9 years old. I told Santa I just wanted to rock out, write a few stories and play some games. Instead, he told me to get in the kitchen and bake him a pie. What were my parents thinking? Were they trying to tell me that all I could ever be was a housewife? Or were they afraid that I would become a drug-crazed, hippie rock groupie who hung out in opium dens playing pinball and beating up robots, so they were trying to steer me in a more mundane direction? Well, I don’t think they thought their cunning plan all the way through, because it backfired. I became just what they feared. Except for the robots. And the opium dens. Which were more like someone’s basement. With pot, not opium. But you get the point. No wonder I hate housework.

Christmas, 1971. (large)

1971 Sears Wishbook

I was 9 years old. I told Santa I just wanted to rock out, write a few stories and play some games. Instead, he told me to get in the kitchen and bake him a pie.

What were my parents thinking? Were they trying to tell me that all I could ever be was a housewife? Or were they afraid that I would become a drug-crazed, hippie rock groupie who hung out in opium dens playing pinball and beating up robots, so they were trying to steer me in a more mundane direction?

Well, I don’t think they thought their cunning plan all the way through, because it backfired. I became just what they feared. Except for the robots. And the opium dens. Which were more like someone’s basement. With pot, not opium. But you get the point.

No wonder I hate housework.