Rambling on about Coming of Age in the 60s and 70s…

I will go to my grave saying I grew up in the best of times: the 1960s and 1970s. The world was changing rapidly, full of color, chaos, and hope. Even in the midst of the uncertainty that came with those decades, my childhood was shaped by powerful lessons of responsibility, love, and resilience. I often hear people say, “You were born old,” and perhaps, in some ways, I was. Growing up as the oldest of three daughters with a family dynamic that could be described as complicated at best, I had no choice but to grow up quickly.

Family ties were strong in our household, even if they were sometimes tangled by dysfunction. My mother was a complicated woman who struggled silently with alcohol and what I now recognize as undiagnosed mental health issues. Her mood could shift like the weather, leaving us to navigate the storm as best we could. My father, on the other hand, was a successful chiropractor, dedicated to his patients and often away from home. His work ethic was admirable, but it also meant that much of the day-to-day responsibility at home fell on my shoulders.

As the oldest child, I learned early on how to be in charge. My sisters looked to me for guidance, comfort, and sometimes just a little bit of fun. I had to balance caring for them, managing expectations at school, and trying to carve out an identity amidst the chaos. The weight could feel heavy, but it also gave me purpose and, over time, a sense of confidence that I could survive—and even thrive—in unpredictable circumstances.

Responsibility wasn’t just a word in our house—it was a way of life. I learned how to prepare meals, help with homework, and even smooth over arguments when tensions ran high. These skills didn’t just help me get by; they shaped the person I became. Looking back, I see how those moments taught me compassion, patience, and the value of hard work.

My mother’s struggles forced me to see the world with a certain empathy. I recognized pain even when it was hidden behind a smile or masked by laughter. I learned to read between the lines, to understand what wasn’t being said. This ability to sense the mood of a room—sometimes before I even entered it—became my superpower. It’s something I carry with me to this day, both a gift and a scar from those formative years.

Despite the challenges, there was magic to growing up in those decades. The music was alive, bold, and rebellious; the clothes were bright and expressive. Neighborhoods felt like big extended families, and summer days stretched endlessly with the promise of adventure. We didn’t have the distractions of the digital age. Instead, our entertainment was found in each other—in backyard games, bike rides until dusk, and whispered secrets under the stars.

I cherished the small traditions: Sunday dinners, holiday gatherings, and the laughter that echoed through our home in the good moments. Even in dysfunction, there was love—a fierce, protective kind that gave me the roots I needed to stand tall.

People always said I had an old soul. Maybe it was because I carried responsibilities beyond my years, or maybe it was the way I saw the world—not just for what it was, but for what it could be. I felt deeply, loved hard, and learned to savor the little things.

Looking back, I realize that feeling grown up isn’t about reaching a particular age or milestone. It’s about meeting life’s challenges with courage, about showing up for the people you love, and about finding hope in the hardest moments. The 60s and 70s gave me the best foundation I could have asked for, and though my journey was far from perfect, I wouldn’t change a thing. I grew up, and in many ways, I’ve always felt grown up—even when I was just a child.