Different days. My buddy and I threw a paper route in the morning before school. Papers were delivered flat to his house early and we folded them for throwing. He took one long street and I took the parallel one. We raced to the other end then went to school. 8 or 9 years old.
We sold “Grit” in the evenings and went to Cub Scouts on Tuesdays after school.
On Saturday we ranged to the south side of town and stopped off at the Cattleman’s Cafe at the stock yards for a burger. Bellied right up to the bar on the high, round, red covered swivel stools then it was across the highway and off to the airport to hang out a bit with a kindly airplane mechanic. We ranged out 5 or 6 miles from home.
We rode downtown for haircuts and sometimes the slot car track but our Mom’s thought the element there were too old for us to be around so we got the message of discouragement.
We went to the movies on Saturday afternoons sometimes.
We had a great life.
What a shame my grandchildren won’t experience it except by my stories.
What a shame we have lost our way. I grieve for our dead nation.
Yours sounds like a wonderful, American style childhood. I could just imagine every part you wrote about.
But sadly, as you mentioned, its gone. Its not coming back either.