I MISS “THE GOOD OLE DAYS”

Some of my favorite childhood memories include:

The patriotism that oozed out of everyone on national holidays. All of the fathers on our block had served in the armed forces during WWII. and excitement about any of the big holidays started building weeks before the actual day.

My friends and I usually got caught up in the festive mood. Very often we would have our own “pre-parade” before going to the main street of our little town and watching the real thing. Our “pre- parade” was not to be taken lightly, however!

We borrowed our fathers’ dress uniform hats from whatever branch they had served in. My friends Rob and Tim, brothers who lived next door to me, had it on good authority that their father had served in the best of all branches of our nation’s military, The Navy!

The authority they cited was their very own father. Who among us did not hear that oft quoted phrase, “My father says…” when we were growing up? Well, this bold-faced lie could not go unchallenged! I had it from an even greater authority (My father) that the greatest branch was actually the Army Air Corps! Our friends from down the street, Chuck and Robin, strongly disagreed with the statements already on record. It seems their father had proof that The Marines were the true heroes in the recently ended conflict.

The “discussion” didn’t last too long, and we were all good enough friends to agree to disagree and get on with the project at hand- “Operation Grand Parade.” This was a revered thing, a tradition, started by our older siblings who bequeathed it to us when they grew tired of it.

We didn’t want to just do it; we wanted to do it perfectly!

We built floats by decorating our wagons with red, white and blue streamers and flags! We practiced marching, a true example of the blind leading the blind. Rob, whose wealth of knowledge came from watching war movies, was our instructor. We got a drum, actually a Jay’s Potato Chips box shaped like a drum (What’s a parade without a drum?).

We were baby boomers so using only kids from the block we usually had about 20 marchers, at least three wagon floats, numerous decorated bicycles, drummers and one bugler. What glorious messes our parades turned out to be!

Our route was one time around the block. The parades lasted about 15 minutes. Sometimes one of the little paradors would get tired at the farthest part and we would have to send a “runner” to go back to our houses and get a parent, or older sibling, to collect the fallen soldier.

I’m glad that none of our parents had movie cameras because, to quote the great philosopher Paul Simon, “Everything looks worse in Black and White.” We do have some still shots, but they don’t convey the confusion, bad drum playing and poor singing that we brought to the game one or two times a year.

I miss that fun and I don’t see kids doing it now. Seems that kid parades, like so many other things from our past, have been left there.

I hope that spirit comes back. I believe our country needs some of that “Old Fashioned” patriotism. Maybe this is just an old baby boomer babbling? The parades were a lot of fun and, I think, they helped me to love my country and respect the price it takes to keep us free. At the risk of additional babbling, I think our country could use some more of that, do you?

Another thing I really miss about my youth was the whiffle ball tournaments we’d have in the back yard. For anyone who is not familiar with whiffle ball, it’s a plastic ball that comes in a smaller ball- the size of a major league sized hardball, or a larger 12″. Whiffle balls that I have used are either solid, half solid and half perforated or all perforated.

Home plate was at the end of our lot line. The hitters batted towards my house. Lefthanded hitters had an opportunity to hit the ball straight down my driveway by going along the rightfield line, where the ball would roll forever. I am lefthanded and this truly enhanced my Home Run stats! We had a large elm tree directly behind where the second baseman was positioned, moving further left was my ranch house which stood in right field. Straight away center field was the Eckstein’s two-story house. My house was about 75′ from home plate, Eckstein’s house was at least 120′ and to hit the ball over their two-story structure meant it had to go twice the distance. Straight away left field was wide open with no fences or other obstacles for the left fielder to contend with until Garvey’s garage (Two lots away) that stood about 140′ from home plate. There were not too many homeruns hit to left.

I did hit a few over Eckstein’s house, which gave me bragging rights until someone else accomplished the same feat.

My neighborhood was filled with baseball nuts, and we played 16″ softball in the street (Pretty much a Chicago thing). Home plate and second base were any pieces of garbage we could find that were at least one foot square, if possible. First and third were sewers that were set into the curbs on the East and West sides of our street. We often called “No Chips” which meant if you got a hold of one and broke someone’s window the other players didn’t have to pitch in to pay for it, you were on your own.

Besides my backyard and the street in front of my house we also played in Jeff Garvey’s front yard (Whiffle Ball) and Butterfield Park about six blocks away (League/hardball). When we played hardball, we would usually challenge kids we knew who lived around the park.

My neighborhood buddies were not locked into baseball/softball/whiffle ball. We also played football at the park or in my backyard (Using half of Trompeter’s yard and Half of Eckstein’s yard). For these contests we would not only pick sides (Who was going to be on which team) we would also pick equipment. One of my dad’s friends had given him a box of football equipment his kids had outgrown- one pair of shoulder pads, three helmets and assorted elbow and knee pads. Sometimes there was more fighting over the equipment than the teams.

We, sometimes, challenged the neighbors on Cambridge (The street West of us) for a neighborhood football championship. The games were always tackle, and it was always brutal. The combatants on both sides played through split lips, broken fingers and other assorted bumps and bruises. We always shook hands after the game, but from the first kickoff to the last play, it was no holds barred.

We were a generation that was “released” after breakfast and often stayed out until dinner. During the summer we were released again after dinner with a stern warning to “be home before the streetlights came on.”

With all this time outside we played a lot more than football and baseball. Some of the other games included: “Crack the whip” where we’d all hold hands and the “leader” would run a hard course trying to shake all, or some, of the players off the line. “Four square” was a game we played in the street. We chalked a square in the street and divided it into 4 squares. One person was in each portion and the rest waited in line to enter after someone was eliminated. We used any air-filled ball we found that was approximately the size of a volleyball or a little larger. A player was eliminated (And forced to go to the end of the line) if a ball they hit landed on one of the dividing lines, if the ball bounced twice in his portion or if the ball hit in a box and the person in that box was unable to direct it into another box. We played “Kick the can” a game that started by someone kicking the can. The person who was designated to be “It” had to retrieve the can and bring it back to a specific spot. When the can was kicked all of the other players ran. When the person that was “It” retrieved the can and brought it to the designated spot, they had to keep touching the can, at that spot to call a person out- thus sending them to jail. The person who was “It” could leave the can to look for other players, but they had to be touching the can at the home base to call someone out. When another player was spotted, the “It” player called out their name and location. That person had to go to jail and stay there until another player was able to kick the can and free everyone in the jail. We also played tag and red rover and many, many more games.

In addition to the outdoor games we played games like checkers, chess, Monopoly, Chinese Checkers and marbles. Some full days could be filled by reading and watching TV. Going back outside riding bikes and swimming in the local pool could also fill the day.

But with all of these things listed and more I remember clearly telling my mom, “I’m bored” on more than one ocassion.

I remember the answer she would give me (and speaking to the fifth of six kids mom had the answer ready). She snapped back with at least one of the following options “Great! I’ve wanted someone to- dust the living room, clean the toilet, vacuum, peel potatoes, mow the lawn, clean the basement, weed the yard, sweep the patio etc.

Being a slow learner, I made that statement more than I should have, and sometimes mom made me complete one of the above. None of those are among my “favorite memories.”

Thank you for reading, I hope it made you smile and, maybe, remember some fun things you did as a child.

Please comment about anything you like, or don’t agree with and share if you have friends that might like this.