Growing Up Ferrel

On occasion, this neighborhood can resemble what it used to be like a thousand years ago, when people talked to one another. Today was a good day for it due to decent weather. I managed to chat it up with a few who saw me outside, cussing my lawn, lawn mower..etc.

I was reminded of what it was like when I was a kid. Back then, Moms all in this neighborhood tossed our asses out of the house so they could get their jobs done. We'd be “underfoot” if we were inside. So, this neighborhood was crawling with us. We'd play hide and seek, tag, kickball. We'd invent fantasies to carry out right out there on the street. Pirates, Indians, and due to the Vietnam War, we'd play “guns.” Bang Bang! Di Di Mao! We created “rifles” by kicking out the fence pickets of those old white picket fences. We'd saw them down, fashion them to look like army weapons. Huh, I just realized we made our own toys at times.

I would run around, in 90 degree weather, sweating like a pig and it was no big deal. But when your seven your cardio system is perfect, you can run around under that blazing sun. I'd get sooo dirty, that I'd have “sweat rings” on my arms and legs. What are sweat rings? Imagine your playing all day, in the dirt, dust, crawl spaces under porches and you get this fine layer of dirt on you. As you sweat, it forms a thin layer of mud on your skin. Now why they formed into one inch rings is beyond me. But, there you have it, I'd be ringed and filthy. I'd fight my Mom about taking a bath. I thought I looked damn cool covered in dirt with small particles of sand in my hair.  Besides, my favorite TV program came on, baths were an annoyance.

We boys played “hard” as it was called then. We'd get cut up, stung, dirty, bloody if in a fight. We'd purposely build ramps to ape Evel Knievel and some of us had fantastic crashes with our bikes. Do you remember what a skinned knee felt like? My God there was nothing more painful! Here's something odd you'll see on NO kid today. As boys then, all of us had callouses on our palms. We used our hands so much during the summer, there'd be areas which calloused right up. It was normal to have them. In fact, it was a badge of honor to be so deformed.

 

 

We Boys Tried this, Using our Murray Banana Seat Bikes

The girls on our street played “girl games” though we both did mix in a lot. The problem was that the girls cried too easily if we were too rough. Except Gail. I've written about Gail before and she could knock the teeth out of your face with a fist as fast as she could straighten out her dress. Gail was a trooper and to be feared if she became angry. The funny thing, Gail was a thin waif and shorter than the boys.

I got into some minor trouble with a girl called Colleen once. The game was “Break the Chain.” We boys lined up, arm in arm and the girls would charge us trying to plow through our defense line. If you break through, points were scored! Colleen came charging at me and Patrick and I wasn't about to let her pass. She struggled and fought and fell across our arms when I lifted her up off the ground, with our interlocked arms, and flipped her right over right onto her back, in the street. Smack!

Ever have the wind knocked out of you? You swear you're going to die. I guess I knocked the wind out of Colleen to the point when she could breathe again, her bawling brought her Mom out.

Of course, we boys were instantly blamed for this. Then again, we were at fault for a lot of things that went wrong on our street.

It wasn't out of malice. It was just that we were NEVER going to let anyone through and body slamming was an acceptable tactic. Colleen's Mom made a huge deal out of this.

“I've told you boys you play TOO hard with the girls...now LOOK at what you've DONE!”

Yep, instant guilt trip. Game over. Time to figure out something else to do.

We had a local dog, a large mutt named Bootsy owned by the Brett family, who was the size of a coffee table. He'd come around, wheezing his old age out and we'd boys love to sit on his back and ride him like a horse. When you're little, you can do this. We'd take turns riding Bootsy till, of course, one of the Moms would see us and lay another guilt trip on us.

Then to make amends, we'd take Bootsy back home to Mrs. Brett's house. But there was an ulterior motive. Mrs Brett had a huge blueberry bush right there by the fence and us boys, after safely depositing Bootsy back home, would take our “pay” in blueberries.

Then we'd wander off to do something else.

By playing outside like we did, we got to know everyone and could trust that things were predictable and safe (most of the time).

Gail's Mom had the built-in pool, so we'd chum up to her to have a dip. Mr. Joke-A-Hozee (I can't remember why we nicknamed him that) was good for sitting on his stone wall and waiting for the ice cream man. Mr Gross (Yes, his real name) was an embittered old coot who had a plum tree in his front yard. If you were quick enough, you could pick a few overly ripe ones and sling them against his roof with a mighty SPLAT! It was like teasing a dangerous junkyard dog. He'd come out swearing to tell our parents and we'd scatter like rabbits, laughing the whole way.

Night time we went to the “Lot.” It was an undeveloped, over grown plot of land where no house was ever built. Here we could find lightning bugs. I was amazed by them. I was so curious as to how they could blink on and off like they did.

Here, out of the intruding eyes of parents, we built small fires, lit off fireworks, played Doctor with certain girls who were far more bold than we boys. Pamela was good for initiating that one. Here we learned about swearing, sex and stories told to us by the older kids that were complete BS. The house at the back of the Lot was rumored to have a ghost in it. Of course, the ghost was a murdered man from a long, long time ago. When your seven, it's best you take the advice and stay away from any house like that! The Lot also had two hundred million mosquitoes for some reason. We'd all come home bit to hell. Scratching mosquito bites (which gives GLORIOUS relief) while watching TV made a nice end to a summer day.

*****

Back then, there was no structured play. Very few of us went to summer camp. We were left alone to our own devices and boy did we invent ways to have fun! My street today doesn't have packs of dirty kids roaming it. The Lot is still there, with it's yearly show of lightning bugs, but no kids go into it. The ice cream truck comes by but no one waits for it.

 

I lucked out. I grew up unsupervised. We kids of that age all lucked out.