Tail fins graced cars, Hula Hoops trained hips and romance blossomed.

The year was 1957. More babies 4,308,000 were born in the United States that year than in any other before or since.

I was among those babies in the Etch-A-Sketch generation, the one that preceded the Pierced Flesh generation. In our days, a period known technically to social scientists as the andamp;quot;olden times,andamp;quot; we were inspired not by nose and eyebrow rings but by Ike and Mamie Eisenhower in the White House, whitewalls and fuzzy dice.

But what we especially liked were Gerber strained peas.

Now, 50 years later, the pea-powered Baby Class of 1957 might not have fixed the world’s problems like AIDS, cancer, e-mail spam and telemarketing calls during dinner. Still, the class knows how to play. It has produced the most major champions in golf Ballesteros, Price, O’Meara and Langer.

The year 1957, however, was more than just nurseries of Gerber-fueled future golfers screaming andamp;quot;Fore!andamp;quot;

The anti-nuclear group SANE was organized to demand global disarmament.

Jack Keroac’s andamp;quot;On the Roadandamp;quot; was published, launching the beat generation.

Thinking we could learn the most if we were surrounded by people just like ourselves, whites protested desegregation of public schools in Little Rock, Ark.,

The space race began when the USSR launched Sputnik I and its sequel, II.

The best children’s book ever, andamp;quot;The Cat in the Hat,andamp;quot; was published by Dr. Seuss.

Motown was reved up.

The first killer bees began spreading north from Brazil.

Not until the next year, 1958, did jet travel debut.

But changes came fast. When kids born in 1957 graduated from high school and went off to college, the Vietnam War had grinded to a bloody halt. The main pastimes were streaking, Lawn Darts and, at least among hormone-ravaged boys, gazing at the newly minted Farrah Fawcett poster.

This year the Class of 1957 is turning 50. Today it spends much of its time playing on the Internet, what columnist Dave Barry calls CB radio with typing. The acne is mostly gone. Other skin maladies have arisen in the childhood of old age as we begin to encounter the planned obsolescence of the human body, either in fits and starts or in mighty thuds.

Some of us dress in the latest fashions, and buy red convertibles, leather jackets and aviator glasses, in hopes of looking 49.

Our Baby Boomer self-absorption is famous. Still, many of us are discovering community service, volunteering and listening to golden-oldie radio stations that play Pink Floyd and Jim Morrison and The Doors and advertise prunes.

We grew up with goals. Most of us fell short of doctor or lawyer, settling for keeping the house lights on and enough fuel in the car to get to work, not easy with gas topping $3.30 a gallon.

We’ve turned out more junk food addicts industrial-strength Twinkies, anyone? than rocket scientists. We know more about Cheetos and Mandamp;amp;Ms than splitting the atom.

We’ve gone at incredible speed from youth to being a nostalgia item.

Our muscle mass is shrinking. Muscle mass peaks at 25 and drops 4 percent per decade to 50. Then it begins dropping at an alarming 10 percent per decade.

If we’re men, our hair is thinning from the big piles we had on graduation day to a tuft today. And that’s on our chest.

Our tail fins are getting plumper, and our Hula Hoops are mostly around our ankles. We’d pick them up, but only if we can find another chore or two to do while down there. And when we sit or get up, we often let out very pronounced sighs.

Still, the Class of ’57 totters on, in absolute wonder about what technological marvels the next 50 years will bring.

We’ll see them if we eat enough prunes.

Reach Baby Boomer at jpetersen@lagrandeobserver.com .