Fun Times

Yesterday's blog got me thinking about my childhood.  I can't recall as many details about my early years any more.  It seems as though my childhood memories used to be more vivid.  So, I've been thinking about the fun times in my childhood.  I know there were times when I was unhappy, but I also know that there were good times, too.  So, here are a few fond memories.

Our driveway was covered with shell, and a new load of shell would be poured out every few years.  Walking barefoot in the summer across the driveway was a challenge until my feet toughened up, especially when there was a new load of shell.  But toughen up they did.  In a few weeks, I could run across the shell without any problems.  There were a few places in the driveway that always formed depressions, no matter how much shell was added.  My dad would drive his car over them every afternoon when he came home from work, his car squeaking as it bounced over the depressions.  It was my signal that he was home.  He would come inside, put his gun away, and take off his coat.  Then he would sit down, except during the time that my sister had a cocker spaniel named Duke.  Duke loved to play chase with my dad, and he would pull on Daddy's pant legs until he turned around and chased him.  They would go around the house a few times, Duke losing traction and pawing the floor as though treading water as he tried to turn a corner.  After two or three rounds in the house, Duke would let my dad sit down.  Nobody else played chase with Duke, just my dad.  It was a nightly ritual.

I remember going to the Police Camp with my dad.  That was a fun place, but the trip out there was a blast.  There was a dirt road leading to the camp.  I would sit on the edge of the back seat, and Daddy would drive slowing down the road, stopping and starting up again, while I tumbled all over the back seat, laughing the whole time.  The one disappointment that I had was that we never went to the toy town on the other side of the bridge.  You see, when we crossed over the I-10 bridge, the town of Westlake looked like a toy town to me.  It was so realistic!  The detail was amazing.  Why, the houses even had miniature clothes hanging from little clothes lines.  No matter how anyone tried to explain it to me, I was convinced that I was seeing a toy town, and I was very disappointed that we never stopped to visit.

Sundays were spent at Grandma's house.  The women cooked, then served the men, washed dishes, then served the kids, then washed dishes, then they ate, and washed dishes.  The men played cards; the kids played outside.  We had China berry wars and dirt fights, made garlands of clover flowers, saw wild turkeys, flew kites, and played in the hugh ditches in front of the house. 

I also remember catching fireflies (which we called lightning bugs) and putting them in jars to provide light outside on summer nights.  Also sneaking up on and catching mosquito hawks, marveling at their colors.

I remember how much patience Queenie had with me, for I could pester a person to death.  I guess it was good practice for her, because I think Carla might have even better at that than me.

It's funny, but when I was young, I thought we were rich.  I certainly never felt deprived of anything I wanted.  I didn't really get our relative financial position until I got to high school.  Even then, I was fortunate to live in a time before designer labels, so I was able to wear the current style of clothing without worrying about whose name was sewn onto my garments. 

Well, it's time to quit and get ready for work.  Glad it's Friday!