Good post, John.
It seems like the early 40's are a turning point for some. You're 41, and I was in my easy 40's when I first felt the vague disquiet that all was not well. It started with a feeling of being too crowded, too saturated with the hype of all the advertising. And you're right, we never had all the advertising when I was a kid that we have now. People didn't have so much stuff, yet they were happy. They hadn't been told how deprived they were, so they went right on with life not knowing any better. I can only presume my folks were putting on a brave face for us kids. That dad was really unhappy when he was cooking the ham urges and hot dogs on the charcoal grill they had saved the green stamps for. That we kids were just under privileged having to live in a normal brick rambler home in the 'burbs instead of a MacMansion with twice the bedrooms than were residents in the home.
Dad was a civil servant making a decent wage to live in the suburbs. He didn't really want for anything that we didn't need. Like a lot of people back then, he drove a normal sedan type of car. SUV's hadn't been invented yet, nor did they seem to be needed. I remember more snow back then when I was a kid. When we got a foot or more of snow, dad jacked up the Pontiac, and put the tire chains on, then went anywhere we needed to go. Dad's way of thinking, like a lot of folks back then, was why buy a car with capabilities only needed a few days a year? Just like he never carried another knife, he had "A" knife, so he never thought to buy another knife. The one he had did just fine.
I remember him being a bit mystified at my knife buying. He'd spot me with a new knife, and he'd ask what happened to the old one. I'd reply nothing, I just felt like buying new knife. He's just shake his head really not getting it. These days, I'm not sure I get it either. I remember when I finally came home for good, with all my stuff and a new family. I remember the first time dad saw my Randall knife. He looked it over carefully, nodded his head remarking that it was a very nice knife, and it must have cost close to a hundred dollars. When I told him it was 200, he looked it over again, and asked me in a puzzled tone, "Son, I don't mean to be a smart ass, but for 200 dollars just what does it do besides cut?"
I went to answer him, then stopped. I really couldn't tell him because just at that moment I had the light bulb over my head go off. It was the start of my disquiet with advertising and hype. Somehow, in a innocent moment, dad asked me something that made me stop and think. Dad never read gun, knife, car, or any other cult worship item magazine. He just would buy what he knew worked, and he knew what he knew, and that was that. I don't think dad was ever moved or persuaded by advertising. He was too practical. I looked at dad standing there waiting for my answer, and I had to say, "Nothing really, it cuts like a regular knife, it's just a bit heavier and nicer."
It's a funny thing how we humans are so susceptible. When I stopped reading gun magazines, I stopped buying more guns. I don't read knife magazines, so I don't feel the need to buy more knives. It took quite a while for Karen and I to work up to our big downsize. It was so liberating, I don't want to go back, no matter what the ad guys in New York tell me.
Carl.