AZ Jim
R.I.P. With Us In Spirit Only
- Location
- SURPRISE, ARIZONA
When we adults think season of the year, we think in terms of months. We might even think about the allergy or arthritis problems that accompany such changes of time.
I remember as a kid how we told time of year. Not by calendar as parents did but rather by a phenomenon which we encountered outside in our play fields. Now, first you need to know that almost without exception every city block had at least one empty lot. These lots became the community property of all the kids that lived in the block in which it was located. They became the war theater when we fought our imaginary wars, the baseball field which once teams were formed, became the world series of our block.
Sometimes the girls played with us until the games became too rough but mostly they were content to either be our audience or adjourn to one of their home porches to play with their dolls or Jacks, hopscotch, or other things more befitting their feminine gender. We boys knew they were different than us but hadn’t yet determined how that was exactly and didn’t really care anyhow.
Now, about those seasons. Seasons were determined and named for their significance as they related to young gentlemen such as us. There was top season, kite season, fruit box coaster season (that required sacrificing a pair of skates), glider plane season (not compatible with the windy kite season) and often just adlib season (any kid could offer suggestions for a proper project).
We also had a sort of “floating” season. That was fort season. It was a time when we found our building materials in the trash, laying in the alleys and other places as well (this often consisted of something in Dad’s garage which was requisitioned for the good of the neighborhood fort which would be used for multi purposes including defense of the homes in our block from enemy attack. We were not sure who the enemy was but were convinced we would know him when we saw him. Our only fear was that the enemy would appear after the street lights came on and were all confined to our barracks (homes).
Most of these seasons had a capability to become aggressive, killer tops in which after one player started his top turning, others tried to spike it with theirs. Kites that were intentionally brought down by having another fly into and damage it. The aggressive actions usually wrought even more harmful ramifications. I recall only one bloody nose and the participants, once torn apart by others shook hands and it was over.
Our seasons were far less boring than those of our parents and were perfect for kids. Kids deserve to be kids….how else could they have these memories as old men?
I remember as a kid how we told time of year. Not by calendar as parents did but rather by a phenomenon which we encountered outside in our play fields. Now, first you need to know that almost without exception every city block had at least one empty lot. These lots became the community property of all the kids that lived in the block in which it was located. They became the war theater when we fought our imaginary wars, the baseball field which once teams were formed, became the world series of our block.
Sometimes the girls played with us until the games became too rough but mostly they were content to either be our audience or adjourn to one of their home porches to play with their dolls or Jacks, hopscotch, or other things more befitting their feminine gender. We boys knew they were different than us but hadn’t yet determined how that was exactly and didn’t really care anyhow.
Now, about those seasons. Seasons were determined and named for their significance as they related to young gentlemen such as us. There was top season, kite season, fruit box coaster season (that required sacrificing a pair of skates), glider plane season (not compatible with the windy kite season) and often just adlib season (any kid could offer suggestions for a proper project).
We also had a sort of “floating” season. That was fort season. It was a time when we found our building materials in the trash, laying in the alleys and other places as well (this often consisted of something in Dad’s garage which was requisitioned for the good of the neighborhood fort which would be used for multi purposes including defense of the homes in our block from enemy attack. We were not sure who the enemy was but were convinced we would know him when we saw him. Our only fear was that the enemy would appear after the street lights came on and were all confined to our barracks (homes).
Most of these seasons had a capability to become aggressive, killer tops in which after one player started his top turning, others tried to spike it with theirs. Kites that were intentionally brought down by having another fly into and damage it. The aggressive actions usually wrought even more harmful ramifications. I recall only one bloody nose and the participants, once torn apart by others shook hands and it was over.
Our seasons were far less boring than those of our parents and were perfect for kids. Kids deserve to be kids….how else could they have these memories as old men?