Triggered Memory

 I don't know why the Flintstones television debut is occupying my thoughts, but that is what I am thinking about this morning. 

I was about eight years old and sitting on the living room floor with my brother, who is two years younger than I am.  We were dressed in our pajamas and we were probably winding down before our 8-8:30 p.m. bedtime.  I remember hearing, "yabba dabba doo" and turning towards the television set.  I was shocked to see cartoon characters (in all their black and white glory) on the screen.  We had no idea what this was about.  In those days, there was no such thing as cartoons in prime time!

We heard our mom telling us it was time for bed and I began begging her to let us stay up to see what was unfolding before our very eyes.  My brother and I were deeply engaged and curious as we watched these stone age folks prance around with prehistoric animal gadgets and pet dinosaurs.  Mom gave us the green light to continue watching. 

For thirty minutes we watched with jaw dropping amazement as these stone age folks utilized prehistoric animals to clean their house and perform a multitude of other technological tasks.  We laughed at their cars and their newspapers made of stone.   

The Flintstones are my earliest recollection of becoming a consumer through marketing tactics.  The next thing I knew, it was all Flintstones, all of the time, anxiously awaiting the next episode of the "night time" cartoon.  I became the proud owner of a set of giant Flintstone paper dolls that my friends and I would play with for hours on my front porch.  We would dress the two foot tall paper cutouts in their various outfits and breathe life into them through our play acting.  I was happy with this new possession.  I never owned the Flintstones lunch pail or had my bedroom redecorated with Flintstone linens, lamps, and curtains.  The paper dolls were my one indulgence into the Flintstone phenomenon and I was content.  I owned those paper dolls for years until I outgrew them and passed them on to someone else.  They had neither a rip or a wrinkle as it was a sin to not care for your things!

While I continued to watch and love the Flintstones, I never became obsessed, as in the Hannah Montana syndrome currently sweeping the nation.  I still stopped the Playmobile and checked out games, jump ropes and books.  I still saved my quarters until I had enough to make a trip to my beloved Dean's Newsstand where I bought my favorite comic books and a salted Payday bar. My brother and I still slid down hills of snow on cardboard and fought over my bike because it was the "fastest in town." 

I have no idea what triggered this memory on this particular morning.  I mean we all remember where we were when the Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan or when the first man landed on the moon, the day Kennedy was shot and the tragedy of 9/11.  I suppose I owe my thanks to Hanna Barbera for creating a cartoon character that some forty-eight years later, I can fondly remember exactly where I was when Fred and Wilma made their debut!