On a recent Saturday night my wife went to bed around 8 p.m. and I planned on retiring for the evening around 10 p.m.

We kissed each other goodnight and I was about to head for my recliner to watch a few more YouTube videos when I was struck by a sobering thought.

“I was a lot more exciting on Saturday nights 60 years ago,” I told Julie.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

So I began to explain.

It was a busier than normal Saturday for us. In the morning I tagged along to a craft sale at a little country Methodist church not too far from our home. I went along assuming they would be selling coffee and baked treats. I didn’t need any craft items but Julie did.

When I walked into the church I saw a sign indicating that cinnamon rolls were $1. Before I could get to the serving window, however, I saw an old friend from a community I left more than 25 years ago. Randy and I had a great visit, updating each other on our kids, our lives and how great retirement is. We talked for quite a long time.

By the time Julie was ready to leave I hadn’t had any cinnamon rolls yet so we left without one.

It was nearly lunch time, however, so we stopped at a fast-food restaurant for some noontime sustenance. After that we spent the rest of the day at home and, before we knew it, it was bedtime.

And this is what precipitated my statement that I was a lot more exciting 60 years ago.

Julie wasn’t sure where I was going with this, so I further explained.

Sixty years ago last January I acquired my 1955 Chevy. On Saturday nights I and a bunch of other Hamilton County teenagers headed for downtown Webster City where we burned cheap gasoline driving up and down Second Street (the city’s main street) for several hours.

The route was simple: starting at the old City Hall parking lot we drove west. There was no designated western terminus but after a mile or two there were several convenient places to turn around and head back to the City Hall parking lot. Occasionally we veered off Second Street and drove through residential neighborhoods but always ended up on Second Street.

I don’t recall doing anything too exciting on Saturday nights on Second Street. After a couple of months, we got familiar with the other cars in the parade. Some of the guys were more courageous and stopped to visit with girls in the City Hall parking lot. I wasn’t that bold.

It was exciting enough, however, to be part of the excitement. U.S. Highway 20 was routed through town on Second Street back then so traffic was usually congested and slow. It could take a while to complete the circuit.

A local family operated Bash’s Drive-In where one could purchase an amazing breaded tenderloin and a host of other culinary delights, soft-serve ice cream and soft drinks delivered to your car by some of the cutest girls in Webster City. I remember trying to come up with something smooth to say when the car-hop came up to my car window. “Thanks” was about all I could get out when the time came. Normally I was a rather loquacious young lad but cute girls from the county seat left me tongue tied.

As the years went on, “scooping the loop” became less frequent. Saturday nights involved coffee with my buddies at a truck stop east of town, getting together to swap stories at someone’s home and movie dates with real live girls. (I grew bolder as time went on.)

Occasionally my friend, Rich, and I drove down to Des Moines. You see, there were these girls at Mercy Nursing School and those trips were more exciting.

Now, here it is 60 years later and the highlight of the day was missing a cinnamon roll at the little church craft sale (although the visit with an old friend was pleasant.)

Come to think of it, my life wasn’t all that thrilling 60 years ago but these days it is even less exciting. Frankly, I’m a boring guy and I guess I’m okay with that.

I am much more confident around the cute girl who is my wife and gasoline is way too expensive to burn driving up and down a county seat street.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2025 by Huisman Communications.