Spending my allowance

I was a kid of the sixties, when fifty cents was worth something to a kid. Fifty cents could buy you a lot of different things back then. It would buy you a trip to the show and leave fifteen cents for candy. It would buy you a couple candy bars and a comic book and an afternoon of unforgettable enjoyment sprawled on your bed, on a rainy day, or in the high branches of an apple tree that grew near our house in sunny weather. A fifty cent allowance was always worth doing the assorted chores assigned for and the time between collecting and spending was as long as it took to run to the little grocery down by the county courthouse. There were candy bars galore, bottles of pop, comic books and cracker jacks which offered a treat and a toy inside. Anticipating that weekly trip to the grocery was one of my favorite ways to fill my blank hours, always planning the best way to stretch that money out and get more than I had last time.1

Summer time was the best time for spending ones allowance. Especially after pop bottles returns could add to the fortune and you could end up with with twice the amount you started out with, if you were resourceful and fast and beat the other bottle hunters to the garbage in the park. There, while summer concerts were in bloom and people picnicked under the trees emptying bottle after bottle of Fanta, Hires Rootbeer,Nehi grape and Nesbits orange soda,
a fortune accumulated. I was always an early riser and would walk my dog Smokey through the open fields, along the river front and through the park searching and found enough to make my puny allowance stretch to infinity. Then it would be a big ice cream sundae at Joe Browns, with mountains of ice cream, syrups, nuts, and whipped cream which I'd savor with my latest edition of the Fantastic Four, Spider Man, Classic Tales and Twilight Zone comics, lounging at the snack bar on those tall stools. 2

As I got older and began delivering papers I had no need for an allowance anymore. Then it was a monthly splurge, directly after collections were done. I'd rush from house to house my collection bag and receipt book in hand praying the Lord would be listening and all my people would be there the first time with my money so I'd have my bill paid off and my percentage neatly tucked away in the old cigar box on the shelf over my bed by nightfall. Mom and dad had a rule that we couldn't spend anything till after we had paid the monthly bill and put at least five dollars away in savings. But, after that it was all ours. Along with the money I received from selling extra papers on the street I'd often have another five dollars and an evening to spend it in any way I wanted. That meant the movies with an unlimited amount of spending money for the snack bar. A giant soda, an equally enormous popcorn, my favorite big hunk candy bar and a box of guess whats, (which also offered a free toy with every package) and two hours of fantasy was a reward that made a month of slogging through freezing rain and snow in the winter or super heated streets in the summer worthwhile. Sometimes I'd even meet one of the neighborhood girls and my bounty would insure me an impromptu date and snuggling in the back loge seats and there was no heaven that could be that grand for a fifteen year old kid in the sixties. 3

But, I suppose the greatest time was when we got paid for a month in the berry fields in summer. That was a specially good time, when the checks were handed out and every kid broke their neck racing to Pay N Takit supermarket to cash them and go on a spending spree their parents would scream for a week over. Sure the money was supposed to go in the bank for college, (right like that ever happened), but who could resist that sandwich counter with it's fifteen cent hot dogs and twenty five cent milkshakes. Then there were the glamor mags, movie star tabloids and Teen Beat for the girls and model cars and airplanes and hot rod magazines for the boys. Of course, it was more comics for me and a piece of banana cream pie kept under that Plexiglas
cover there in the coffee shop, always served by a smiling waitress who always seemed to be called Dolly. It never got old and who cared how many berry fights and early mornings rising and trips in run down rusty buses crammed with kids it took to make that money. It all disappeared when you had that magic check in your hand and the whole world seemed yours for one afternoon.4

Now days, though I always put my rent and bills first and something always goes into savings, I still try to treat myself to some little treasure every pay day. It's never much, just a second hand book from a favorite bookstore, a movie at the three dollar theater, (where they show the movies a month or so later than the rest and you can sneak in your own snacks and pop, if you're clever), or a day at Farmers Market. But, while it's something I anticipate certainly, there is something missing. I suppose it's the magic of being a kid and not caring what tomorrow will be like as long as there is that pay day coming down the way and a comfortable bed in your room to lose yourself in fantasy with a good comic book and a Hershey bar. Or maybe it's just the innocence of being able to satisfy your every desire just that easily that makes me wish I was that kid again and it was that time again. Fond as those memories are, I sometimes find my self feeling sad when I realize that those days, like so many other things are gone now and will never exist again except in nostalgic memories that always bring a smile.