Years ago, I branded a podcast titled, “Growing Up in Idaho” – a show about life as a kid in Idaho and other stuff of intrinsic worth – mainly old memories of Salmon and surrounding areas and the crazy things we all did as kids growing up in such a unique place. And you know, the hook that always accompanied the title of the show was, “Talkin’ bout the good ole days.”

That phrase has always made me ponder and maybe chuckle a bit. We use that phrase a lot – usually when we want to pontificate on how good things were back in our day versus how bad things are now. And perhaps some might agree that things were a lot better generations ago, especially if you’re from that particular generation. But interestingly, the kids who are in grade school now will be haranguing their kids with stories about how much better the 2010s were! It’s just how we operate as humans.

To illustrate, when I was a sophomore in high school in 1980, my hair was long. I happened to like it that way! And to their credit, my folks did not give me much trouble about my long hair – “looking like a damned hippy,” as dad would say under his breath. But one day dad had had enough, I guess. He pulled me aside and said, “You know, Jeff, when I was a kid, the guys who had long hair were the ones who were so poor they couldn’t afford a barber. I know you have the money to get your hair cut; why don’t you go see Jack Nelson and get it done?”

I said, “Thanks for the tip, dad. I appreciate your concern; you’ll be the first to know when I’m ready to walk into Jack’s barber shop.”

But you know, I stopped going to Jack in my early teens because my brother convinced me to go to a beautician – Debbie LaMont. Some of you may remember her – what a great individual she was – and an excellent ‘barber!’ And she used a straight razor to trim the hair on my neck – that was worth every penny we paid her – five bucks, or whatever.

Anyway, I wanted to make the point that when we talk about the good ol’ days, it’s usually a matter of perspective how ‘good’ those days actually were. I remember well the late 1960s and 1970s. As kids, we were constantly being told our hair was too long, we were reminded how much gas cost and, “You better not be out dragging main! Your car gets horrible mileage – burning gas like it’s going out of style!” And there always seemed to be some political scandal keeping people awake at night.

Jimmy Carter was president during part of that time. Like folks would say, “Jimmy is probably one of the nicest guys in the United States, but how in the world did he get elected president?” I’ll tell you how – it was a natural political pendulum swing away from the corruption Dick Nixon brought to town. But I digress, I don’t want this to turn into a political rant – frankly, I’m sick of politicians.

As far as the generational thing goes, I just consider that every generation has their package of problems to deal with, and the older generations will always – and I mean always – think theirs was the best, because it was!

For this essay, let’s go back to the good ol’ days of 1970 and reminisce about experiences in the Salmon school system. I’ll start off with Mrs. Thomas’ 1^st grade class in the old Pioneer School. And by the way, that school building was old and rickety when I started first grade in 1970. The fact it is still standing is a complete miracle.

My teacher, Mrs. Thomas, started out the school year by choosing her ‘singers.’ She explained to us that a special group of kiddos would be chosen based on their talent to sing. Her singers, as she called them, would get to sing beautiful melodies to her and other lucky people. And those kids would also get special treats. I had no idea what that meant, but I figured it must have something to do with candy.

The method she used to form her personal 1st grade choir was by going from kid to kid and having each one stand next to his or her desk and sing a few bars of My Country Tis of Thee. If she thought you were talented enough to be drafted into her singing group, then you were showered with accolades and praise and welcomed like a hero.

When it came my turn to sing, I knew my whole future hinged on that moment – it was either success and fame or a lifetime of anonymity and disgrace. Well, I belted out that familiar tune. And I was proud of my performance.

“Jeffrey Hicks, that was the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard! Sit down; no way you’re going to be one of my singers!” Mrs. Thomas said.

It was at that very moment I realized my dreams of being the next King of Rock-n-Roll were over. I wouldn’t even make the list of back-up singers! Nobody was going to be listening to my records and songs on the radio.

I suddenly knew I had to come up with plan B and frankly, there was no plan B. I had officially joined the ranks of “non-singers.” Thankfully my best friend, Danny, had been relegated to non-singer, as well, along with a bunch of other kids in the class, most of whom I barely knew.

We non-singers were a motley crew, with little sad faces, huddled in our desks, pushing our pencils, trying to color within the lines, just hoping to figure a way out of our obscurity and awful state.

Well, the gloom of not making Mrs. Thomas’ music troupe was soon forgotten as we all were soon let out for recess. Like I said, Danny was my best friend, and our friendship was now even more strong due to both of us being relegated to the destitute crowd of non-singers. So, we walked around the playground mixing and mingling with our school friends.

“Hey Jeff, so who is your girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend?” Danny said. I pointed over to a girl I didn’t know and said, “There she is.”

“You like Stacey?” Danny asked. “Yep, I do.”

I’d never met Stacey, and until Danny mentioned her name, I had no idea who she was. But she seemed like a good candidate to be my 1st grade girlfriend. It should be noted that Danny was my best buddy and didn’t tease me for liking girls.

I really got around in those days! My girlfriend from Ellen Whiting’s kindergarten class was Janna. She was the champion hide-and-seek player, and that, in my six-year-old mind, was pretty spectacular. Plus, Janna was the smartest kid in our class; she could say her ABCs, read simple sentences, and count to 100 before the rest of us could even write our names.

It took some time, but I and all the others got used to life as non-singers. Personally, I found fame and satisfaction in other things, like show-and-tell, for example. That event was my favorite activity of the entire week. It was the time I could zone into my element and tell some wild stories or bring some cool relic from home for which to dazzle my little school mates.

One particular day about half-way into the year, Mrs. Thomas announced it was time for show-and-tell and to move our chairs into a circle in the back of the class. Suddenly, I got a sick feeling; I had forgotten it was show-and-tell day. How could I have forgotten my favorite activity? I didn’t have anything to show, and I had nothing to tell about. I was devastated.

Suddenly an idea popped into my mind. I could make something up! Now keep in mind, I come from some of the biggest BSers in the history of modern civilization. In my six years of existence, I had been privy to some of the tallest and craziest tales known to man – stories told and re-told every time there was a Hicks reunion or any other reason for the family to gather. Plus, my dad, Mike Hicks, was full of tall tales and never wasted an opportunity to sit us kids down to hear his adventures.

Anyway, I figured I could hold my own in a simple, first grade show-and-tell; at any one time, I had a week’s worth of crazy stories rattling around in my mind. So, I dragged my chair over, sat down, and got the plot of the show-and-tell story mentally mapped out. This was going to be a whopper!

When it was my turn, I spewed a great tale about how my dad flew his Piper Cub airplane into the Idaho wilderness area and crashed. Of course, he remembered to strap on his big Bowie knife before leaving home. He used that weapon as he killed deer and bears to eat, all while living off the land as he hiked out of the mountains to get back home.

The subplots I wove into the story were extraordinary! All those kids in my class were riveted in their seats; it was obviously the greatest tale they had ever heard! I ended by saying, “And dad got home just last night. He walked through the door in time to eat supper and tuck me into bed.”

Well, Mrs. Thomas was not convinced my story was the truth. “Jeff, are you lying?” she asked. “Me? No, I’m not lying,” I said. I was a bit perplexed why she was even questioning me. It was a great story! Why would she be so concerned whether or not it was true?

That night, Mrs. Thomas called the Hicks house. Birdie, my mom, answered the phone. It just so happened I was within hearing range as my mom stood there in the kitchen with the phone up to her ear, with that famous stern look pasted across her face – a look that I had seen many times.

“No ma’am, my husband is not a pilot. No ma’am, he did not wreck a plane. Um, no, he’s been home all week. Yes, I will talk to Jeff. I don’t know where he got that story. Thanks for calling; I’ll take care of it.”

Well, perhaps you know first hand or have heard how discipline for kids went back in the good ol’ days. Mom didn’t even have to say any words; I knew the gig was up just by her look! All of her kids got that look when crap was about to hit the fan. If you really want to know, I took my punishment like a man – even though I was only six years old and could barely wash my face and find clothes that matched.

The next day in school, Mrs. Thomas seemed to take delight in teaching all the kiddos who showed up to class that day a lesson on not telling bald-faced lies. As I sat there in my desk while Mrs. Thomas gave me a royal tongue lashing, all I could think of was, “Someday, I’m going to publish that story; I’ll be a famous!”

There’s a lot of lessons we learn in those first few years of school – many of which have nothing to do with readin’ – writin’ and ‘rithmetic. The lesson I learned that day involved maximizing skills and developing talents. I should’ve learned to sing so someday I could make the big bucks as a Rock-n-Roll star!