living in Italy in search of "HIM"

I happen to be born lucky.Have been born lucky-(I always sucked at-in English-even failed it in college once-or should I say 'University.' ) I was born in 1963. Oh those were the days when kids got to be real kids.We played outside in the neighborhood, before the word 'Hood' even existed. We never had a house key.No one did. No one locked their doors-except for when we went to bed and my dad would 'do the rounds', and lock it all up.(Or when we would drive through a 'tough' neighborhood-which meant Black, Hispanic or low income. My dad would hit the electric car door locks (of our-well his- two tone blue Caprice Classic four door undercover cop looking car) and say "Watch your fingers" and we would know windows and locks where going up.) We didn't even lock our cars.Before there was a fear layed on to the children of the world-well western world mostly.We could walk home at night from any neighborhood kids house even at like 10pm. I mean all towns had the local 'Perv' as we called them. But we just walked an the other side of the street as 'ours' leered at our juvy 11 year old legs in our 'hot pants'(micro-mini shorts for those of you who missed that fabulous fashion era.) They were so damn popular in the 70's.Your butt hung out ideally, about an inch at the then perfect pert round bottom.We came home only for dinner- dirty from building forts and playing with our imaginations outdoors, not -TV-cell phones or computers-fuck they hadn't even invented VHS so it didn't even exist yet to rent a movie.Try to imagine it! We couldn't.We'd make up, as we called them 'skits' short plays or performances of sorts.The days of the 'Real Saturday Night Live' with John Belushi and Gilda Radner the late 70's.The days when even at the biggest party of the year, there was always a room of people- standing room only,crowded around watching that weeks episode, which if you missed, you might be left out of an inside joke for the rest of your life!
I'll never forget the first movie my dad let my older bro take me alone to go and see - 'Blazzing Saddles." 1970 Mel Brooks.We died laughing, as only my brother can still get me to roll with tears of laughter-now, how often does that happen? once or twice a year if we're lucky right?He makes my mom laugh to this day, so hard that she pisses in her pants.Yah pisses, as in plural-more than once-even once shit a bit on a hotel bedspread after a really funny shtick he was doin'-later when they came back to the hotel she askes "What's this chocolate pudding on my bed?" Then they both died of laughter when the truth came out.Bladder control seems to become an issue with the aging--ooh one more thing to look forward to.She will never live that one down. Damn what a funny family I have.Once she was goin' on laughing from he and I -or is it he and me?or me and him? Well 'we' got her going in a rent-a-car driving down the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu and she laughed so hard she begged him to pull over and rolled off the passanger seat -but a bit too late 'cause a small yellow puddle was starting to seep in to the seat as she bailed out onto the curb, where all the hot surfer dudes were suiting up to hit some waves. We could have crashed.

living in Italy in search of "HIM"

Rome, Italy