“Don’t tell Mom! She doesn’t need to know.”

Grandchild asks: “What was something as a kid that you could spend hours doing and never get tired of it?”

Dear Grandchild:

Now, you first have to realize that we didn’t have all the distractions you kids now have. Life for a youngster was fairly simple with a lot of free time.  I had no mobile phone and the television, when we finally got one, only received three channels (in black and white). The only technology that I enjoyed was our big Philco radio that had some programs that interested me, like the Shadow and the Green Hornet. (Very scary!)

Between the ages of 7-14 (1948-1954) I was most happy just being a kid. My parents were so kind and loving that I cannot remember being anything less than happy except when my words or actions didn’t please them. And they let me know that I disappointed them.

It is difficult to pick out what activities that I most enjoyed and “could spend hours doing” but four of them stand out: reading, playing baseball, being with my animals, and accompanying my dad in his truck.

Reading

Reading may be number one because I could do that year-round regardless of the weather. Although the baseball field was right next to my house, the cold, rain, and snow kept me inside. Riding in the truck was restricted to times when I wasn’t in school or when dad’s jobs conflicted with my schedule. 

There were always books in my house or in the little library at my grade school, St. Rose in Wilmington. As my taste in literature expanded, mom allowed me to buy books during our trips to Joliet. Once engrossed in a book about baseball, animal stories, or westerns, the time would disappear at home, in the school bus, or walking. Comic books about superman, plastic man, Looney Tunes, or cowboys would also grab me. My sister and I shared and cared for these colorful adventures inside the glossy covers.

Baseball

While most people would describe baseball as a team endeavor, my yard provided a training laboratory where baseball fundamentals might be cultivated. Throwing, catching, and hitting skills could be developed without the assistance of anyone else by utilizing some ingenuity, imagination, and determination.

A lost game ball found in the grape orchard could be thrown in the air producing fly balls to be circled under and snared. A rubber ball thrown against the peak of the house might require a diving or backhand catch. Tossing a small apple or driveway rock in the air allowed me to practice my baseball swing as I hammered it into Wrigley’s left field stands. 

Animals

Seems like we always had a dog around (not inside) the house. My first dog, Teddy, was my companion anytime I was in the yard. My second dog, Tippy, was the same way. Tippy knew exactly what time I got off the bus and walked home, so she would wait in the front yard until I came into view. Running toward me, she would entangle her front paw around my leg forcing us to walk as one.

In the backyard, we raised chickens not to eat, but for the eggs. I even trained a “pet” chicken by teasing him while he was eating. I would pretend as if I was pecking him with my fingers until he got mad and pecked back at me. When I put my head down on the grass, he would come after me and peck at my head while I laughed.

I thought that this was a lot of fun until one day he saw a neighborhood girl coming into our yard. He started toward her, she began running away, which made him chase her more. She never did come back to our yard.

With Dad

Riding in a truck may not sound very exciting and satisfying but being with dad and his working buddies had many rewards beyond travelling the roads and highways. First, there was lunch at a restaurant, listening and singing with the music on the radio, and then stopping for a beer at noon or after work in the tavern…all were exciting and satisfying. I was accepted by dad’s colleagues who talked to me like I was older. And dad seemed proud to have a son with him.

It was educational time where I learned a new vocabulary and we formed a bond, especially in the taverns. Dad would tell me, “Don’t say anything to your mom about where we went.” Now being one of the guys, I kept my mouth shut.

So much of my education and real learning took place outside the confines of a school building. Dad and his buddies could care less about how well I could diagram a compound, complex sentence. Or how many historical dates and algebra formulae I could memorize. Instead, they taught me about life’s lessons, how to work hard but enjoy some time off, and the value of integrity and relationships. 

I hope that you enjoy these brief stories about activities that melted hours into timeless periods of pure joy. It was as though I actually was the characters in my books, I really did smash the ball into baseball heaven, I lived in Teddy and Tippy, and that I was a truck driver on Route 66. 

How could a kid get “tired” of all that?