Looking Back to the '60s and the Slumber Party

What junior high school gal didn't participate in slumber parties? Of course you told your mom you were going over to Barbara's house, but as we know, the slumber party was often a backdrop for many other types of activities.

I remember one party in particular which was held at our house on Pacoima Court. Imagine about fifteen hormone-driven teenagers piled high in their PJs, and sprawled all over the living room.

Thirteen-year-olds can be quite a handful, and thankfully my mother was a saint to agree to the gathering. As our home on Pacoima Court truly looked haunted, this was the perfect setting for sharing ghost stories, séances, and playing with the Ouija Board. 

I’ve always had a vivid imagination, so I was always guaranteed a night of insomnia when one of my pals would suggest something paranormal.

“Let’s have a séance! Maybe we can bring back grandma!” Our group would gather in a circle holding hands, just when the clock struck midnight.

“Nana, can you hear me?  Give us a sign that you can hear us,” would come the plea as the pupils in our eyes would open wide, and the hair would stand erect on the back of our necks.

Then there would be some sort of rustling, or the drapes would blow ever so slightly, and screams would erupt. 

“Did you hear that? I think she’s here!” My pal Robbie Armstrong was one of the first to claim a spirit had entered the room.

“Naw, it’s just the wind,” came the reply from a non-believer.

Several others would discount the arrival of the grandmother who’d died in 1957, but many of us were firm believers.  As for me, I’m inclined to believe anything, which is why I was a goner when I purchased my first car in 1978 and got stuck with an APR of 13.5 percent.

Sometimes the boys would crash the party. I remember my Walter Reed flame, Scott Bell, showing up with a few of his buddies on the night of our slumber party. Scott was a bit of a bad boy, and his arrival with the other hellions didn’t go over well with my mother. 

No doubt, most of the boys were trying to make progress with the young ladies in their drop-drawers, but I doubt they got very far before my mom found out they had arrived and shooed them out the door.

The following morning, those of us that didn’t get any sleep (snoring Susan made sure of that) were fumbling around for our clothes, when my sister Teresa came across something interesting on the floor.  She picked it up and showed it to everyone. It was a cone-shaped foam rubber cup known as a falsie, those padded wonders to make your bust appear larger.

Soon, we were passing it around, and one of us managed to find one of my brother’s stray tennis balls, so we used the falsie as a catcher’s mitt to intercept the ball.  Hey, you’ve gotta put that falsie to work, since it wasn’t firmly planted into anyone’s brassiere.

Ah, slumber parties were secrets were shared, hearts were mended, and some friendships were fostered for life.

We never found out who owned the falsie.