Let’s go back to 1960, when I was 11 years old. It’s summer vacation, school is out–let’s go! Live it up!
Gobble up my breakfast, then rush outside with mitt and bat to see if my friends Jimmy and Frank are ready to play ball. They are. So we shag flies for a while, until there are enough kids there for a softball game.
Hop on the bikes, race through the woods next door, and stop at the spring for a drink (who would dare to do that now?). Back on the bikes, over to the candy store. And then to Tommy’s Pond to catch frogs… or fish.
Afternoon is almost played out. A quick dip in our backyard pool seems in order: then grab the newspaper before anybody else, so I can see how Willie Mays made out last night. Box scores tell the tale.
Then suppertime. Corn on the cob. The farm is ten minutes away by bike.
After supper, a game of kickball on the street… till it gets dark.
That day it was over 100 degrees outside. We had a lot of days like that! It was the middle of July, of course it was going to be hot. No one heard of “Climbit Change” or “Global Warming.” We did just fine without it. If you wanted air conditioning, go to the movies. Or to the dentist.
That’s how it was.
In 1960 I was in my sophomore year in college, just transferring from the U of Utah to NYU Heights (Bronx campus). I lived in the Bronx, and in the summer I worked in Manhattan to help pay bills even though I was on full scholarship. I loved NYC. I could travel anywhere safely, even on the subway at night. There were cheap seats at the opera, lots of shopping and window shopping in the Bronx and Manhattan, and good restaurants that even a working girl could afford. There were also lots of free things, like concerts, dance, museums, and Shakepeare in the Park. It was a different world back then. And I’m still grateful for having lived in it.
And it appears that if I want to leave a comment, I can do it only by switching into the WordPress site itself — or doing pick ‘n’ peck on my phone.
This comment turned out just fine.
Oh, yeah, Shakespeare in the Park! I saw ‘Richard III’ there.
The world has changed so drastically. Growing up in the mid to late ‘60s, we had the run of the town with no concerns. The biggest threat we worried about was having our bikes stolen, and even that was a rarity.
Other than warning children not to accept candy from strangers, most kids lived without fear of adults sexually abusing them. It was a very rare event, back then.
We live with little, if any, fear and had a lot of fun. And yes, it got hot during the summer months. I remember being drenched in sweat, many, many times, but no one thought that the sky was falling. We had some serious droughts, way back in the ‘60s, but we also had some seriously cold winters and epic snow cover. It all evened out.
I just remember loving the hot weather and enjoyed every moment of it. I’d love to be able to revisit those carefree years.
I’ll save a space for you on the ball field.
You’ve never seen me play ball. It’s quite a sight, and I don’t mean that in a good way. However, with a bit of practice, I became a pretty good batter.
Gee, I miss those softball games.
Summertime, play outside all day, barefoot, ride my bike with no helmet or hat in the hot sun, and come home just to eat lunch and supper. Play kick the can. Build a tree-fort 15 to 20 feet high in some tree that grew alongside, what had been a farmers field. My brother and I, blew things up, with M-80s (they had a big punch), from my dad’s dresser drawer. Drink from the garden hose, and be home before the street lights came on, or mom’s booming voice called me and my brother home. Elder Mike
Yeah, that’s how it was. *Sigh*
I had just finished first grade by the summer of 1960 and I was a girl (3rd child of 7) living in the eastern suburbs of Los Angeles. Most years my family would take the train or our truck with camper on top across country to far-western New York where my grandparents and lots of cousins lived on their farms. Wild berry picking, farm cats that would grab pickles out of my hands, little creeks of water with homemade bridges where we’d play Billy Goats Gruff, small grown-over cemeteries from the 1700’s in the woods, townspeople who knew my mother as a child, deer, raccoons, and rusty old oil derricks long deserted in the woods — a world that existed for me only in the summers.
Oh, for a way back…