Growing up in Brooklyn, New York, during the 1970’s was a trip, man. Since Halloween is right around the corner and I’m feeling kind of nostalgic, I thought I’d share with you cats a quick trip down memory lane.
Some will find it badass, some silly, and some will drink in the good memories with me. Dig it!
People always ask me: “How did you get into horror movies?” Here are the gory details once and for all.
I’ve always been a night owl, man. Even as a small child I’d lay awake in bed until I heard my parents start snoring. That would be akin to me getting the green light to head into the living room and pop on the TV. Like I said, it was the Seventies, and we had this huge and totally bitchin’ black and white console television set. In fact, it was more furniture than television. If it broke, you could just pop another TV on top of it, no problem. Recommence entertainment.
Anyway, there I was. It was about 1:20 am sometime in like 1975/1976. I was about four years old and had just turned on the tube. After surfing around a bit, I came across a newscast. To my shock the reporter was going on about the dead returning to life and attacking the living and saying that if we were home, we needed to get to rescue stations immediately. There I was, just a little kid, and I clearly remember saying to myself, “Holy shit! We gotta go!”
I tore ass into my parents’ bedroom, popped on the light, and exclaimed, “The dead are coming! We have to get to rescue stations! We have to go NOW!” They thought I was dreaming or had a nightmare. “No way,” I said. “I’ll show you!” I grabbed my mom’s hand and pulled on her until she flopped out of bed. My dad, pissed off and bleary eyed, followed us in tow.
We made it into the living room, and I pointed earnestly at the TV. Of course what I’d been watching was the famous news scene from the George A. Romero classic Night of the Living Dead. BUSTED. Christ, were my parents mad. We’re talking fuming, burning anger. My dad retreated back into their bedroom and returned shortly with a huge leather belt. That night I got my first spanking. It was a defining moment. As I lay there in bed with my ass throbbing, I came to realize that even though I was terrified out of my mind, I was still 110% safe.
How fuckin’ cool!
I was in love with the genre from that moment on. Since my real life parents were both ridiculously dysfunctional and batshit nuts, I grew up in front of the TV, and I’d like to take this time to introduce you to my two foster parents: “Fright Night” and “Chiller Theatre”. It’s from the horror movies I watched with them that I learned right and wrong. Good and bad. I know I’m not alone either.
So come on, kids! I showed you mine … now you show me yours in the comments section below. Whom did you grow up with? What was your horror show or host?
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Grow up creepy in the comments section below!