The Weird Summer Vacation Trends of the ‘60s and ‘70s We All Did Anyway

No one questioned things. The kids were sprawled all over the vinyl seats with no seatbelts in sight, while the cooler sat wedged by your feet. The car smelled of sunscreen and bologna sandwiches, with no air conditioning and only one cassette playing over and over for hours. Parents rolled down the windows, passed snacks backward, and hoped for the best. Bathroom breaks were infrequent, tempers ran hot, and elbows were constantly in the way. Somehow, that cramped station wagon became the center of every summer memory. While it seems absurd now, it was totally normal back then, and everyone accepted minor discomfort as part of the adventure. Looking back, it feels less like poor planning and more like a shared rite of passage families rarely experience today.

Families would pack their entire week's meals from home to save money. The coolers were packed with fried chicken, sandwiches, and thermoses of drinks. Families had picnics in parking lots, rest stops, or roadside pull-offs. Somehow, those simple meals tasted better because they came with freedom and the open road.

Dressing the entire family in matching outfits made perfect sense back then. Everyone proudly wore matching shorts, identical hats, or coordinated color schemes. At that point, nobody thought it was embarrassing. Today, those photos are sweet and funny, never failing to bring a smile to everyone's face. 

Those vinyl seats turned into frying pans in the sun. You peeled your legs off them every time you got up from the seat. Shorts stuck, skin burned, and towels were used as emergency barriers.  As hot as it was, no one complained much about it. You just adapted to the discomfort and accepted that it was part of the road trip experience.

Roadside motels were everywhere, and they all looked the same. They had thin walls, scratchy towels, and a pool that seemed just a little sketchy. Parents liked the price, children loved the vending machines, and the motel's neon sign was exciting at night. Although you would not call it fancy, it still felt like a vacation.

As soon as you arrived, your kids basically disappeared until dinner. They rode bikes, explored nearby woods, or went to the beach by themselves. In retrospect, it’s quite shocking, but at the time, it was just summer.

Someone always had a giant folded map spread across their lap. It never folded back correctly and blocked the view. Missed turns caused arguments and dramatic sighs, and gas station stops doubled as navigation meetings. Getting lost felt normal, not stressful. Somehow, the wrong turns became stories instead of disasters.

Sunscreen was available, but it was greasy, white, and usually forgotten. Children would spend hours swimming and turn bright red. Every evening was spent applying aloe and a cool cloth on the affected areas.

Everyone wore cutoffs in the summer. They were usually made at home and were uneven and frayed. But that didn’t stop people from wearing them to the beach, the car, and even out to eat. What mattered more was that they were comfortable even if they didn’t conform to fashion rules,

Every vacation ended with a bag of incredible souvenirs, such as mini license plates, ashtrays, snow globes, and random figurines. These souvenirs end up collecting dust in a bag because no one knew what to do with them, yet they never got thrown out because they were a part of vacation memories.

After long days out, everyone crowded into a motel room and sat inches from the television. There were very few channels available, and the picture was always fuzzy, but that didn't really matter. Families were just excited to watch something on television, and no one was concerned about how close they were to the screen.

Before everyone carried a camera, visiting families would gather brochures at rest stops and visitor centers. A ton of brochures were stuffed into vehicle glove compartments and suitcases. At home, they sat in drawers as proof you had been there.

The radio in your car helped set the mood for your trip. Whatever station came in clearly on the drive would be the one you listened to. Kids learned the same songs on repeat, and certain tracks became forever linked to summer trips. 

Postcards were the official way to check in. You picked one that showed something you barely remembered seeing and wrote a quick note. It arrived days after you got home, which nobody questioned. Sending it felt important, though. It was proof that you thought about people while you were away having a good time.

Flip flops were flat, thin, and basically useless, but everyone wore them everywhere. L Blisters were common and ignored. Foot pain was just another minor inconvenience that came with summer freedom.

Air conditioning was not always guaranteed, especially in cars. Windows stayed down, and hair whipped everywhere. Maps flew around, and road noise filled the car. It felt breezy and adventurous, even if it was loud. That rush of air made the drive feel more alive, like you were part of the outside world.

Every photo mattered because film was limited. Parents carefully aimed before clicking. You never knew how the pictures turned out until weeks later. That made each photo feel special. Vacations were remembered through a handful of images instead of hundreds of digital shots.

Motel accommodations were small, so kids often slept on floors, cots, or rollaway beds that would squeak every time they moved. Even though blankets were also shared and the pillows were thin, nobody complained much. The experience of being together was more important than sleeping comfortably, and somehow everybody managed to wake up and do it again the next day.