Children of the Past

Yesterday I found myself in an old-fashioned neighborhood where half a dozen kids were playing outside. Middle school kids, I think, or older elementary-age. A fleet of bikes under a tired old pine. Some dubious swings hanging from spindly trees. A couple of half-hearted skateboard ramps. But the overall impression was of invention and ingenuity. Kid-engineered.

Looking at this scene made me remember the grand kid klatsches of my youth. The kickball games, SPUD, 10 Sticks, all ages invited, the big kids humoring the little ones (well, sometimes). There were children in every house, more than 25 in one block, scads of banana seat bikes, constant drama. I still remember the songs we sang, the dogs that terrified us, the hedge apples used as weapons.

I was so lost in the past that for a moment I almost forgot where I was. Then I noticed a table set up on the corner, a girl walking toward me. “Would you like to buy some lemonade?” she asked. Every kid-powered enterprise needs its funding source. I reached in my purse and pulled out a dollar.