Snowballs, Clown Cakes, And Boots With Buckles

Snowballs, Clown Cakes, And Boots With Buckles

“I hope we never lose some of the things of the past.”

                                                                                   -Walt Disney

I remember… a simpler time.

I remember… an industrial suburb, streets lined with towering elms and houses packed in close together, which helped keep the neighbors close. Growing up, I knew every kid on the block, where their parents worked, the car they drove, and even the names of their pets. Today I know the people next door, and I think they have a cat.

I remember… playing in the alley with my neighborhood friends. During the daylight hours, it was touch football with two telephone polls marking the goal lines, or basketball at one of the hoops hung on a neighbor’s garage. Some days the younger children would play “Simon Says” or, as silly as it was, “Captain May I?”, or your basic game of tag. At night, the alley was transformed into a spooky hunting ground for the Ghost. We all needed special permission to stay out after the street lights went on. Day or night, whatever the game, a sufficient number of players was always available as no one was planted in their bedroom playing a video game.

Later in life, I fell into the trap. I made the mistake of transforming our dingy basement into a rec room to make a place for my kids and their friends. There were times I wouldn’t see my son for three days. He and his friends, the rec room, and their cell phones became a self-contained unit with no need for contact with the outside world. I once considered the possibility they were all part vampire considering their commitment to basement living.

I remember… the cake my Mother made for my 6^th birthday. It looked like a clown, a 3-dimensional figure with a pointed hat. I still don’t know how she did it. That’s how it was. Your Mom made the cake. Today a kid’s birthday cake is a product of the love and devotion of some guy working at Kroger or Bimbo Bakeries.

I remember… playing board games on the dining room table with my Mom, Dad, and brothers, Candyland and Chutes and Ladders for starters, moving through the Sorry and Clue years, and arriving at Monopoly and Scrabble. Family time has taken a hit as today’s kids have no need for playing partners as their cell phones offer sufficient mindless distraction. 

I remember… pickup football, basketball, and baseball games in the alley, at a playground, a park, or an empty field. We played anywhere with anyone. We didn’t need line markers or real bases or a coach with a whistle around his neck. We played whatever the weather in our blue jeans and wore the standard high-cut white Converse tennis shoes. Today I see empty alleys, lonesome outdoor basketball courts, and vacant fields where some kids should be playing baseball. I imagine the active kids are in gyms somewhere wearing nice outfits and any one of a thousand choices of coveted name-brand pricey shoes.

I remember… having to suspend our games as the big orange garbage truck slowly made its way down the alley. Charlie, with his shaggy white hair tucked under a frayed red cap, worked his way down the alley dumping all things disgusting into the back of the hauler. Despite the unpleasant nature of his work, he always had a smile and a friendly word for us. He would tell us he found a sandwich in an old dented garbage can at his last stop and ask if anyone wanted it. His job seemed hard, and I hoped that Charlie would sometimes get to be the guy who drove the truck. I’m sure today’s system with uniform carts being hauled to to the curb and grabbed by a mechanized arm is more efficient, but it seems a little of the colorful history of the neighborhood has been lost.

I remember… wearing hand-me-down clothes that my frugal parents recycled twice, from my oldest brother to my next oldest brother to me. Many of my friends were similarly clothed, and what we wore never really mattered as long as it kept us warm in the winter and the buckle-up rubber boots didn’t have holes in them. Now it seems that the most critical part of a kid’s attire is the label.

I remember… calling Weather every winter night hoping the the temperature would be below 32 degrees so I could grab my skates and head over to the local outdoor ice rink. A small area outside the park pavilion was flooded each year, and I’d meet my friends there to skate under the lights to the staticky music coming from a rusting speaker hung on one of the light poles. I met a girl there, and we’d skate together holding hands. It wasn’t all that exciting as we were both wearing heavy winter gloves, but it seemed like a big deal at the time. The city stopped flooding the area years ago.

I remember… family meals. It wasn’t a conscious effort to have meals together. It was just the way things were done. My parents would extract information from my brothers and me about our school day, and we grudgingly came up with something. No one ate a thing until we were all seated, and no one left the table until we were all finished eating.

Today, with kids being involved in so many after-school activities, the “family meal” is often consumed in the car after hitting the Drive-Thru at McDonald’s. The radio is often blaring kid music so loud that conversation is not an option.

I remember… a Catholic parish grade school, first through eighth grade with 60 kids to a class and no discipline problems. It wasn’t a matter of the Nuns walking around whacking kids with rulers. It was a case of respect. It was a good education provided by the School Sisters of Notre Dame, and a little infusion of values and morality never hurt a kid. Today, the school is closed.

Four priests lived in the Rectory, and there were five Masses every Sunday. Today, the church has been combined with two other parishes, one Mass is held on Sunday, one priest serves all three churches, and the Rectory sits empty. It saddened me to attend the funeral Mass of a woman who had been an active member of the parish for 67 years when the priest from India couldn’t personalize any part of the service as he had never even met her.

The church was open 24 hours a day. I could go there any night, sit in any pew, and meditate about things that mattered in serene solitude. Today, as is the case with most places of worship, the doors are locked to keep the bad guys out. Unfortunately, everyone is locked out.

I remember… walking to school or to a playground alone when I was probably 8-9 years old. I could go a half mile in three different directions to a playground or park or field and find kids to play with for hours. All my friends did the same as parents had no reason to worry about their children’s safety. Today I drive by empty playgrounds, tennis courts, and basketball courts, and I wonder where the kids are.

My Dad would take me to a County Park to spend the day fishing at a small pond. I’d catch a few bluegills, an occasional carp, and hunt for turtles. I never caught a turtle, but it was more about the thrill of the chase. I was there alone for hours. My Dad would probably be arrested for it today.

I remember… getting a quarter a week from the Olsons for walking their first-grade son Timmy to and from school for the first couple of weeks of the school year. The responsibility for shoveling the elderly widow Martin’s sidewalk and mowing her lawn was passed down to me by my older brothers. Compensation came in the form of cookies and hot chocolate in the winter, and cookies and lemonade in the summer, and, of course, in the words of my Dad, “the satisfaction of knowing you had done a good deed.” There was no such thing as an allowance for doing things that needed to be done around the house or yard because, again in the words of my Dad, “You live here so you get to help take care of the place.” From the numbers I sometimes hear, some of today’s kids could use the services of an accountant to manage their weekly stipend.

I remember… epic snowball fights that covered the entire block and involved all the kids in the neighborhood. Every house with a kid in it had a snowman on the front lawn. We’d all drag our sleds over to the hill behind my school and spend the entire afternoon there. Today, I admire how pretty all the undisturbed snow looks as I again wonder where the kids are.

I remember… a “snow day” with all the schools closed, the greatest event in a kid’s life. The plans were quickly relayed from dial-up phone to dial-up phone, and soon a mass of kids gathered at the sledding hill. Today, just like most winter days here, the big sledding hill three blocks from my house shows little sign of life, snow day or not.

I remember… riding my bike to the drugstore and getting a Bugs Bunny comic book for a dime. If I was flush, I might stop at the Dime Store and lay out another dime for a pack of baseball cards. I’d blow massive bubbles with the gum from the Tops package, and later meet up with my buddies to look for possible trades. The throw-away cards would end up in the spokes of my bike for motorcycle sound effects. The local drug stores and the Dime stores have been kicked off the planet by Walmart, Target, Walgreens, and CVS, and today’s kids have motorized bikes and can find all the entertainment they need in the video games on their cell phones.  

I remember… waiting in the dark at the paper shack for the truck to deliver the huge bundles of the morning newspaper. Sixty-five customers was a good number. The sacks were heavy, but the money seemed like a fortune at the time. Paperboys always got a double dose of goodies at Christmas as virtually all our customers appreciated our efforts. Today my McDonald’s closes down for inside dining at 8:00 PM as they can’t get enough help.

I remember… the TV shows we’d watch on one of our four TV stations- like Leave It to Beaver, Father Knows Best, and The Andy Griffith Show… simple but funny stuff that often came with a moral message for Opie, Bud, or the Beave. Today, even with 125 channels, I have a hard time finding something I want to watch. The late-night comedy guys and the modern sitcoms might not have any material if it weren’t for sex and human body parts, and behavior that was once discouraged is now glorified as Charlie Harper pulls out of his drunken stupor long enough to bed as many women as humanly possible.

I remember… going with my Mom to the neighborhood bakery. Fred baked all night, and his wife Marge sold all day. They knew every customer by name. Today there are no more local bakeries as they’ve all been buried by the irresistible force of mass production and distribution.

I remember… a high school student parking lot with seven cars in it, and every one of them would fit the definition of “old beater.” Today, the student parking lot at my town’s high school would provide adequate parking for a major sporting event, and the cars are newer and nicer than what I see in the faculty parking lot.

I remember… a high school without pistol-packing law enforcement patrolling the hallways. Drugs weren’t an issue because there weren’t any. There was some beer drinking going on but not much. There was never even a hint of violence, and although sex dominated the mind of every guy in the school, we had no expectant mothers. Today, my town’s high school’s “Officer Friendly” is packing, students are smoking dope in the parking lot before school, a study hall has been converted to a nursery, and a neighboring school district has a special program for students returning to school after completing treatment for drug or alcohol addiction.

I remember… attending high school sports events and hearing complete sentences that didn’t have the ‘F’ word in them. Now, when I attend a high school football game I’ll hear three or four ‘F’ bombs in one sentence, often coming from a girl likely in Junior High. Last year I sat in front of a young lady who could construct entire sentences using only the ‘F’ word.

I remember… high school students who were appropriately dressed for school, nothing fancy or elaborate, but something you might wear to grandma’s house for dinner. I once told the counselor at our high school that the boys dressed like slobs and the girls dressed like little prostitutes and asked if they didn’t have some kind of dress code. He said, “That is the dress code.”

I remember… my Mom rebounding for me at our backyard basketball hoop and my Dad pitching to me at the park. I guess a lot of moms and dads are pretty busy these days.

I remember… watching the Saturday Night Movie on TV. It didn’t matter what the movie was. Mom made popcorn, I got to have a soda, and we were all together… Mom, Dad, me, and my brothers.

I remember… my Dad coming home from work with his dress hat on, and we were happy to see each other. I’m sure he was tired, but he always had time for me. I think it was that way for all my friends, moms who baked cakes, and dads who had time for them.

I remember… so many things that I miss. It was a different time and in many ways a better time. I sometimes wish my grandchildren could be growing up in that same environment. I tell them what I can about how things were.