Because in the ‘80s & ’90s, your summer first aid kit was a wet rag, a glob of paste, and a mom with no time for whining.
There’s something so viscerally nostalgic about a childhood summer in the ’80s or ’90s—the smell of hot pavement, banana boat SPF 4, and whatever mystery meat was on the grill. But ask anyone who grew up during that era what they remember most about summer, and there’s a good chance they’ll say one thing:
The injuries.
And the even weirder remedies our parents used to treat them.
Today’s kids have organic bug bite pens, Bluetooth-enabled thermometers, and pediatric urgent care on speed dial. But we? We had a kitchen junk drawer, one plant in the house, and a mom who doubled as a part-time doctor. And somehow… we lived.
Let’s take a walk down memory lane—barefoot, of course—and revisit the chaotic beauty of old-school summertime first aid.
Noxzema: Frosting for the Burned and Betrayed
If your skin even thought about turning pink, out came the cold blue tub. Sunburn? Noxzema. Bug bite? Noxzema. Existential meltdown at age 11? STILL NOXZEMA.
It smelled like grandma’s purse and had the consistency of expired frosting, but your mom swore by it. She’d scoop out a handful and smear it across your shoulders with the grace of someone icing a regret cake.
Your skin would instantly tingle like you’d been kissed by a minty ghost. And somehow, you were supposed to be grateful.
Solarcaine: Because Pain Means It’s Working
For the moms who were a little “fancy,” there was Solarcaine—the green-and-white can that sprayed out a fine mist of cold betrayal.
“Hold still!” your mom would yell, wielding it like a fire extinguisher as she sprayed your entire back, regardless of where the burn actually was. It sizzled. It hissed. It stung. But it also smelled clinical, which tricked you into believing it was helping.
Spoiler: it wasn’t.
Calamine Lotion: Public Humiliation in a Bottle
Nothing says summer glam like giant pink blobs of Calamine lotion all over your limbs. Bug bites? Covered. Poison ivy? Pink it up. Random rash from a questionable bush? Slather it.
You looked like you lost a fight with sidewalk chalk, but that didn’t matter. Vanity had no place in old-school healing. You were crusty, spotty, and vaguely pastel—and your mom was just glad you stopped scratching.
I remember one summer, the neighborhood kids and I all decided to make “Nature Tacos”. Short story, even shorter…yours truly ate one, ended up at Mass General Hospital with poison ivy in her throat and mouth. I promise you, NO child today has THAT epic of a story. Their trauma is when the phone battery dies or overheats.
The Vinegar Bath: The Pickling of the Child
If the bites were really bad, it was time to marinate. Into the lukewarm tub you went, filled with water and a generous splash of white vinegar.
It smelled like a salad and felt like a punishment. You’d sit there, sticky and confused, as your mom shouted from the hallway, “LET IT DRAW IT OUT!”
What it drew out was your will to live.
The Oatmeal Bath: Why does this look like something I wanna eat?
If I was extra itchy, which I usually was…into the Oatmeal Bath. Poison Ivy. Poison Sumac. Poison Oak. Bug Bites. I had them all. Probably all at once.
Aveeno was the brand. It looked like oatmeal packs that I ATE. It smelled like oatmeal. Why was I bathing in it? Is this stuff actually what I eat? I used to play with the floating pieces of oatmeal, wondering what the heck this crap was.
I remember being SO confused. But again, Mom said it would work, so I went along with it. And ya know what? It did. So there’s that.
Baking Soda Paste: Science Fair on Your Skin
This was for bug bites, stings, rashes, and general itches—just mix baking soda with a little water and apply it until it dries into a flaky patch of disappointment.
No one knew if it actually worked. But if you dared scratch it off too soon? “WELL THEN DON’T COMPLAIN WHEN IT STILL ITCHES!” she’d yell, as if the paste was held together with hope and spite.
Aloe Vera: Nature’s Slime (and My Personal Social Ruin)
If your mom had a half-dead aloe plant near the microwave, congratulations. You were about to get slimed.
She’d snap off a leaf like it was a surgical tool, slice it open, and drag the green ooze across your sunburn like she was greasing a pan. The smell was tragic. The sensation? Sticky, slightly snot-like, and effective in a way no one could explain.
It worked. But it also made you smell like a plant that lost its will to live.
And listen—we were that family. The family with the huge, out-of-control aloe plant that lived in the kitchen like a member of the household. My mom didn’t just use it on me. Oh no. She’d offer it to my friends.
I just wanted the cool green bottle of after-sun gel from the store like everyone else. But no, there she was, breaking off leaves and rubbing it on Nicole’s shoulders like some kind of minty field medic.
Nothing says “you’re the weird kid” like watching your mom apply leaf goo to your guests.
Ice Cubes in a Paper Towel: For All Injuries, Great and Small
Bee sting? Ice cube. Sprained ankle? Ice cube. “I think I’m dying, Mom!”? Here’s an ice cube in a Bounty paper towel. Good luck.
The towel always leaked. The cube melted in thirty seconds. But that tiny cube was treated like it had healing properties passed down from generations of tough-as-nails women who didn’t believe in Tylenol.
The Cold Washcloth: The Last Resort
When all else failed—when nothing worked and your complaints reached a fever pitch—you got The Washcloth.
It came from the freezer. It was vaguely damp. And it was applied with a finality that said: this is all I have to give you.
It was the universal sign that your mom was done and that you now needed to just go lie down, drink some ginger ale, and find Jesus.
Final Thoughts: We Weren’t Healed, But We Were Handled
We didn’t have a cabinet full of brand-name creams, sprays, and TikTok hacks. We had minty goo, pink paint, vinegar water, and blind confidence.
You might’ve still itched. You might’ve still burned. But by God, you were treated. Usually in the living room. While watching The Price Is Right. Wrapped in that same weird afghan blanket that lived on the back of the couch and smelled like old popcorn.
Today’s kids? They’ll never understand the healing power of mystery pastes, a washcloth on the forehead, and your mom’s exhausted voice saying:
“Lay down. You’ll be fine.”
Well, unless you’re mine. Or one of her friends.
Still crusty. Still minty. Still wearing the hoops.