Fifty years ago many of you weren't born yet. Maybe your parents weren't even born yet.

In 1962 I was twelve years old, and the world was my oyster that summer. No presidents had been assassinated yet, and the Cuban missile crisis (and our move to the "city") wouldn't come until fall.

We lived three miles from the village on a dirt road, surrounded by pastures and trees and brooks. I spent a lot of time sitting on the stone wall daydreaming about my big crush, Johnny Crawford from "the Rifleman". And a lot of time in my room writing poetry and listening to the radio...mostly WKBW in Buffalo, New York.

Some of the top songs that year were "Stranger on the Shore" (still love that one), "Duke of Earl", "the Twist", "Crying in the Rain", "Can't Help Falling in Love". The top 100 was a mixture of crossover hits from country, blues, easy listening...Pat Boone, Burl Ives, Henry Mancini, the Corsairs, Bobby Vinton, Nat King Cole, The Highwaymen, Connie Francis, Ricky Nelson, Roy Orbison.

TV was black and white and safe to watch. We were big on westerns, Red Skelton, My Three Sons, the Real McCoys. Our antenna was up on the hill, and when the neighbor's cows rubbed against the poles, the picture "went haywire".

Don't know what made me think of this today. That was a pivotal summer for me on many levels, doing the balancing act between being a child and a teenager. I watched cartoons on Saturday, and American Bandstand during the weekend. I can't believe it was fifty years ago. I can close my eyes right now and be back on that stone wall.