I sat down to write the lyrics and the song Dear 1975 as a tribute to us, to the older generation who lived through those times, and to the memories we carry.
When we look back, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking we didn’t know how good we had it. But the truth be told, I did know. I was fifteen years old, safe and secure in my parents’ home, in the same room in the house my brother now owns.
I can still go back there if I want, but it’s never the same without my parents. Even so, I’m so grateful that my brother has the home.
1975 represents something bigger for us seniors. The world is moving so fast now, and it’s easy to look back through rose-colored glasses, but I think most of us who lived happy, healthy lives in the ‘70s will agree the decade was simply wonderful.
Life, The Music, and The Freedom in 1975
The culture in 1975 was amazing.
The music was unbeatable. The sitcoms, the variety shows, the freedom. It’s funny to even use the word freedom to describe it, but that’s exactly what it felt like.
On social media, so many of my peers who grew up in the ‘70s often reminisce about how free we were, and it’s true. I remember being on my bike from morning until night, riding to friends’ houses, calling my mom to say I wouldn’t be home for dinner because I was eating at Linda’s. Even when she moved across town, we biked there too, then on to the park, then to school, meeting our friends along the way.
There were no cell phones, and our parents were okay with it. We were just on the move, living and breathing that kind of independence that seems almost impossible to imagine today.
Here's the lyric song video tribute I wrote for us who are of the generation of 1975:
Do You Know Where Your Kids Are?
And then, of course, there was the nightly reminder on TV: Do you know where your kids are? I think back to that now, and I can’t help but laugh.
Ten o’clock at night, flashing across the screen were the words and commentary, "Do you know where your kids are?" I was always home by then, thinking, who actually loses track of their kids? But it was the ‘70s, and we had that notice, that little nudge from the world, as if to remind parents that yes, the kids were out exploring the world, and yes, that was okay, but time to come home!
Thinking About Mom and Dad in the 1970s
Some of my most vivid memories involve Mom and me watching movies together, or Dad coming home from long work trips. His briefcase would be filled with coins, which my brother and I would happily dump on the floor and divvy up.
Dad would be sprawled on the floor in the living room with the eight-track playing country songs, the kind that I can still almost hear in my mind.
Our vehicles had eight-track cassette tapes, and I begged for my first tape recorder for Christmas just so I could hear my own voice, and promptly discovered I didn’t like it.
Our house was always full of people. Neighbors dropping in, friends hanging out, the laughter and chatter filling every corner. That, to me, was the ‘70s. Family, friends, security, and an unspoken understanding that life, in those moments, was exactly as it should be.
Writing Dear 1975 was my way of capturing that warmth, that freedom, and that sense of rootedness we sometimes forget to appreciate when we’re young.
It’s a reminder of the simplicity we sometimes take for granted, the moments that feel small at the time but last a lifetime. It’s a diary entry to my younger self, and to anyone who remembers 1975 the way I do: full of music, laughter, love, and the kind of freedom that can only come from feeling safe in the world.
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