When Life Was Simple

Life was simple at 246 South Lindsey Street, when I was a boy. In the winter we went to school, ‘played out’ as we called it in the yard, if it was not too cold, till dark, then had supper, listened to the radio and went to bed. In the summer we just spent the day outside. Sure we had chores, going to the grocery store, about three blocks away, cutting the yard, feeding the pets and a few other things as mother remembered to ask me to do, but for the most part we played out. Johnnie Barber and I were next door neighbors and most of the time we formed the group of boys and girls involved in cowboy and Indians, baseball, building a fort out of sticks and old lumber on the vacant lot and just hanging around. We road sticks for horses and held other sticks for guns and in general ‘pretended’ that so many things were real. I collected leaves from trees, put them in a bag and called it money. We chipped the concrete off of bricks, we had a great pile of them which later my father would brick out house with; and called it gold. In later years we road our bikes, cut yards for other people for about 25 cents, went to the store for anyone who would let us, most often they gave us a nickel, and wondered what girls were all about. It was simple, fun, safe, and we looked forward to each new day. I remember Betty Upton teasing me because I had only a plain stick for my horse, so she assured me that I did not know which way I was going, front or back. I fixed her; I stuck one end of my stick horse in a can of white paint and called it the head that way I always knew which way I was going. Betty was the one thing or person that Johnnie and I disagreed on, we both ‘claimed’ her, strange language but that is what we called it in those days. This sometime caused a falling out in our friendship but never more than a few hours. After all a girl couldn’t come between us guys. We listened to the Lone Ranger, Sky King, and Gang Busters on the radio and replayed them in the yards and fields of Lindsey Street. Life was simple, innocent and good; in my old age I sometimes dream at night of that street and those kids and the joys of having very little but feeling very fortunate. Life is not simple now, it is not innocent, and the dreams of a boy are now brief, fuzzy, and not so many as long ago.

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Published in: on November 18, 2014 at 11:05 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Enjoyed this very much. Thank you for reminding us of simpler times.


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