Sounds like my childhood. My mom had a cow bell to call us home. Very loud.
I used to run all over by myself.
No way I would allow my kids to do that...too many perverts, too few hangings on the courthouse lawn.
They'll be raped by some nutcake and dismembered, or shot in a driveby by illegal alien gang members, or be stuck by disgarded Aids infected needles while roaming around....Better keep um in.
And even stranger: most homes had guns in them, always unlocked, and nobody took them to school and shot anyone.
It’s almost like Dads, stay at home Moms, and discipline made a difference. Who’d of thunk it.
no, we can’t. BO wouldn’t approve. Nor would the C of Commerce, nor the neighbors, nor the parents who say, where did all these kids come from? don’t they know there’s birth control for that?
The Pornography princes would make something out of it, and one of 100 would turn up missing.
America has changed, fundamentally and for the far worse. Wholesomeness, goodness, decency, the simple things, its all disappearing. When did America catch the sickness it has.
Nice thoughts of a forgotten time; however, they don’t put away the perverts or the criminals anymore, and the cops are too busy shooting the family dog to keep an eye on things.
In fairness to the cops, however, the ACLU doesn’t let ‘em chase Bad Guys anymore, so...
Plus, in my day, ALL the Dads were ex-GIs and knew how to “take care of business.”
Those days will never come again.
I post this every summer and look forward to it.
The Summers of our Youth
Don Feder
Will we ever again experience the same delight that we did in our childhood?
Each year, I look forward to the advent of summer. And each year, about the middle of August, I wonder where it went.(”Summer’s almost over.” that wistful refrain that echoes through the land.
There’s so much here, and so little time to savor it: a day at the beach with the kids, a walk in the woods, a neighborhood barbeque, an hour in the garden snatched from the merciless jaws of career and family obligations, those great annihilators of leisure time.
Will we ever again experience summer as we knew it in our childhood?
Remember the inexpressible joy when the school bell rang for the last time in June and the entire summer stretched before you like a limitless horizon? I used to race my bike down the hill from school, the wind in my hair symbolic of a new found freedom. Within the confines of childhood we were indeed liberated. Ten whole weeks-an eternity from a child’s perspective-without cramped little desks, homework or nagging teachers awaited us.
Summer was so sweet then, before the advent of Nintendo or MTV: backyard games (whatever could be essayed with bats, balls, sticks, hoops - any object to stimulate the imagination) from dawn to dusk, with brief hiatuses for hearty meals, then a warm bath to remove the accumulated grime, and in to bed in clean pajamas; catching fireflies on languorous evenings; running through the sprinkler, laughing as you slipped on wet grass; going to the amusement park by the lake; getting sick on cotton candy and caramel apples mixed by the motion of the ferris wheel and roller coaster; trapping tadpoles in the creek, bringing them home in empty peanut butter jars; pretending you hated girls while secretly longing for the companionship of the mysterious creatures on those rare occasions that the twain did meet.
The remembrance of summer tastes is enough to overwhelm the senses: cream splashed over freshly picked blackberries; homegrown corn on the cob, lightly salted, smothered with butter; marshmallows roasted on a stick, crisp, brown and bubbly on top; an ice cold fudgesicle on a scorching afternoon.
Will we ever again know these rich, redolent odors of summer times past: the soft sweetness of new mown grass; the pungency of a campfire; the bouquet freshness of the air after a summer shower; that seashore fragrance composed of equal parts sand, salt air and suntan lotion; the heady aroma of clover in June.
Will we ever again know the sounds of summer: crickets prophesying another day of soaring temperatures; the rolling reverberation of skates on blacktop; the crack of a Louisville Slugger making contact; the lazy drone of a lawn mower?
Now summer is a blur; long awaited, enjoyed only peripherally, over all too soon. Summer is no longer the hour of deliverance - an exuberant respite from the tedious march from infancy to maturity marked by the milestones of studies and grades. It is merely another time of year.
Do the old enjoy summer like the young? They have the time, but not the capacity to run, leap and rejoice in the riotous activity summer seems to demand.
If adults could play, could they recapture the bliss of childhood summers? Can only the fresh, innocent eyes of youth grasp the season’s natural charm? Can mind preoccupied with the business of grownups- earning a living, raising a family, household finances- immerse themselves in the season’s pleasures, as children do? Perhaps pleasant memories are all we have a right to expect. Religions have different conceptions of the hereafter - fluffy white clouds, pearly gates, choir music. I would prefer to think of heaven as an endless summer, with a body to enjoy and a mind to appreciate the golden season.
So unless I went for a walk in the park I didn't get to enjoy the outdoors.
Last year I experimented with creating a garden in 5 gallon buckets that I placed on wooden carts that can be wheeled in and out of the warehouse that is in the same building as our apartment. (Our building is surrounded on all sides by concrete and asphalt...)
This year I expanded the project and now I spend much time out in front of our building sitting on the sidewalks in camping chairs while I keep watch on my Emergency Zombiepocalypse Mobile Garden. Now it has become sort of a focal point for friends and family to gather and enjoy the outdoors and discuss the day's events.
I enjoy all the sounds I missed birds and people a few blocks over mowing their lawns and a cool breeze in the shade on a hot day.
And, it has infected our whole family with the "let's-move-to=the-country" bug! Which suits me just fine. I am done with living in town.
Sounds of Kick the Can with the other neighborhood kids in the lingering twilight....
I dunno. Sounds like you describe where I live now. Just love it here.
And without this freedom to roam and wander in kids, the spirit of independence and innovation, ingenuity and know-how is not inculcated.
And that spirit is what is needed for conservatism to flourish.
Lightning bugs.
I am about to move back to the US after 4 years in India. Here I cannot allow my daughter to play outside not only because of the danger from other people (rapes of kids are alarmingly high here; I blame the inability of ordinary citizens to own guns), but also the presence of dangerously-poisonous animals and the sheer dirtiness of the outside (trash, animal and human feces and their accompanying parasites, pollution).
So I will be selling my soul so I can afford a property in a semi-rural area with at least 2 acres of land, so she has room to run around, explore, play, find bugs under rocks, climb trees etc. and yet still be “on my property” where I can (in theory, at least) still see her. That way she gets “outdoor time”, and I can thwart any nosy busybodies who might snoop around trying to accuse me of not supervising my child.
Good essay. I’d been thinking of that very thing recently.
Other lost sounds - Kid’s sing-song games:
London Bridge...
Ring around the rosie....
One-potato, two potato....
Eeny meeny miney mo....
Engine engine number nine....
Your mother and my mother were hanging out clothes.....
Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack...
Teddy bear, teddy bear....
“Oh come on playmate
Come out and play with me.....”
Don’t forget the screen door slamming, the electric fans, the acoustic lawn mowers, and down the shore, the constant hammering as new houses were going up, the outboard motors, the gulls, the nearby baseball game . . .
I miss the sounds too. I live in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and even here the number of birds has declined drastically. I can walk for 3 blocks without seeing or hearing a bird. And frogs have disappeared completely. Some call that “progress.”
And I’m lucky if I see 10 butterflys in an entire summer. Bumblebees are virtually gone, too.