Nonfiction: Childhood Recollections

When thinking of my early years, my thoughts drift back to my neighborhood and all the friends there. Next door to me was a kid named Mark, who was, and still is, four years older and so much cooler than me. I wanted, and still want, to be like him.

At some point, he went through the ranks of karate to become a black belt and all of us younger kids, who I will get to in a moment, emulated him and wished to be able to defend ourselves like he could with twirling kicks and punishing jabs.

One sunny day he showcased his power kicks and we all oohed and awed in amazement. He twisted and jumped around in his yard, showing his power and control.

Mark also invented board games for us ‘little’ kids to play. I remember him designing a pinball machine with leftover Legos and other odds and ends glued on or nailed to a piece of plywood. Little, plastic, yellow paddles on the end were used to hit a metal marble up the inclined board, causing wheels to spin and the ball to bounce off of rubber bands. This silly contraption kept us entertained for hours on end.
Mark was also a mountain climber, thus he had lots of climbing gear. One day, Michelle, Chris, and my sister Sarah went over to his house and found ourselves introduced to a wooden chair next to a pile of hundred feet long rope. The object of the game was to tie up one person to the chair and see if they could get out in certain amount of time. If child services knew about this type of activity, they would completely freak out. We caused our fingers and toes to turn purple and white from the lack of blood circulation.

Eventually, we realized that this was not the most intelligent way to spend our time. Instead, we would go over to the Havey household, the residence of stocky boy Chris and gentle girl Mel. The complete gang would go to their house to play a game we called Bears and Indians. In this game, we split into two groups, and one group uses a ball, (read: arrow), and the other group uses their hands, (read: claws), to tag the other team and make them go to jail. This arrangement provided for endless variety and much enjoyment in our early lives as we practiced strategy and foresight and planning and negotiation.

Another memory surfaces in my mind about the time we built a teepee out in a wooded area next to my house and wanted to sleep in it overnight. Sadly, because of our fear of the dark and the nuisance of all the mosquitoes in the area, that never happened.

Out of the whole Native American stage, my love of vegetable growing began when we planted a Three Sisters Garden of squash, beans and corn out in the property owned by the Pepsi Cola Company. To my dismay, weeds took complete control of this operation. Yet, from this beginning, we kids did continue to grow a garden from which we took produce to sell around our neighborhood. Our little red wagon was used to haul bagged radishes and carrots down the streets. We even got the mail man to buy some greens.

I wish there were some grand, central theme giving meaning to all these events, but it seems that the randomness of childhood is best explained by a chaotic recollection of the past. Life, for a child, is not a boring, linear history, but spurts of fun and monotony, with the meaningless stuff drifting into oblivion, leaving us with long-lasting happy memories.

When thinking of my early years, my thoughts drift back to my neighborhood and all the friends there. Next door to me was a kid named Mark, who was, and still is, four years older and so much cooler than me. I wanted, and still want, to be like him.

At some point, he went through the ranks of karate to become a black belt and all of us younger kids, who I will get to in a moment, emulated him and wished to be able to defend ourselves like he could with twirling kicks and punishing jabs.