My grandson, James, turned 16 this week and it reminded me of a magical time when the number 16 was the sweetest of all. Breathes there a Boomer who doesn’t remember what it felt like to turn 16?
Sweet sixteen meant one thing – car keys.
In West Virginia we didn’t have a learner’s permit, which kids in some states could get when they turned 15 or 15 ½. Nope, for us it meant we had to wait till that special day. In fact, the day after we turned 15, the countdown began….. 365, 364, 363, 362.
Then, finally, amazingly, the day arrived. We woke up one morning and we were 16, practically adults.
“Mom, need anything from the store? I’m heading that way.”
I didn’t have a car of my own or have anything to drive except for the family sedan, but it was a nice ride, an Oldsmobile 88 with a V-8 engine. I won’t say here how fast I went in that car, in case they have blogs in heaven and my Mom might see it, but I went pretty fast.
My buds, Dave and Bill already had their licenses, but they were glad I now had one. It gave us an extra shot at cruising the drive-ins in the event one of got grounded or ran out of gas money. Mike, the youngest in our gang, wouldn’t get his license for a few more months, so the four of us went cruising in somebody’s car every Friday and Saturday night of the world, unless we had a date.
After we turned 16, the next big birthday would be number 18, which meant we could legitimately buy beer and liquor. In those days, however, if you had a buck in your pocket, the clerk would sell you a six-pack of Carlings Black Label, no questions asked. Buying liquor from the ABC store was a little tougher, but not much. Of all my friends, Bill Shaver looked the oldest, so we sent him to the liquor store to buy a pint of Kentucky Gentleman or Seagram’s Gin, even though he didn’t drink. Once, we took a picture of him coming out of the liquor store with a paper bag in hand and bribed him for the next 10 years.
After 18, the next special age was 21. At 21, you could do most anything in the world. We felt like we had reached the pinnacle of life, and maybe we did, for there was never another birthday after that to look forward to, but rather birthdays to dread…. 30, 40, 50, 60, 70?
Wouldn’t it be nice, just for a day, to remember how wonderful that day was when we turned sweet sixteen?
