Surviving the Innocence of Childhood

I’ve seen a good number of articles and videos recently touting the wonder of growing up in the 60’s and 70’s. Especially if you lived in a smaller town, we had a lot of freedom with minimal supervision. In some ways, it was great. But let’s not view those times only through the rosy, romantic lens of adulthood. Summers were boring and hot, idle hands were a constant.

You know what happens when you get a group of kids together? I’ll give you a hint: left to their own devices, kids are idiots. Fools. Morons. It was true then and it’s true now. I’m sure it was true in decades and centuries past. They are untrained and under-developed, devoid of common sense, unaware of consequences. Sure, I have some great memories, but there are tons of times I look back and ask, “What in the world were we thinking? That could have gone badly.” Like many of you, we’re the survivors, and I’m not even talking about what happened inside the house.

I get it, different time and culture and rules in the 60’s and 70’s. We had no boundaries except how far we could ride our bikes and curfew was when the streetlights came on. “Go out and play,” wasn’t a suggestion or an invitation; it was a command. So, we went out.

As you read, keep in mind I was one of the good kids. There are plenty of folks who walk among us, their brains filled with head-shaking stories that would curdle the milk in your parents’ coffee. I”m positive my stories would pale in comparison to others’. That’s why we wait until our twenties or later to reveal those stories.

Here’s a story I couldn’t hide. When I was eight, Lanny Witt came up with a brilliant idea. Neither of us owned a Frisbee, but his mom had a record collection. Same basic disc-shape, same aerodynamics. We grabbed some of her opera vinyl and headed outside. What could possibly go wrong?

Lanny on one side of the street and me on the other, he flung one across to me. It flew well past me and settled in the grass. I picked it off the Mahoney’s lawn and whisked it back, well over Lanny’s head. Finally, he adjusted and got it close enough for me to catch it.

Have you ever tried to catch an album flying at your face? It ain’t easy. And it ain’t soft.

The cut was just under my right eye, enough blood to frighten us into telling his mom. Quick trip to the ER, no problem. Three stitches later and with both eyes still operating at 100%, we were back on the streets searching for another adventure. Nobody got in trouble. We were feral cats, free to roam and discover.

Lanny also had a BB gun, which he wasn’t supposed to touch, let alone shoot. We lived in a basic suburban neighborhood, houses all around his house. “Let’s go in the backyard and shoot at targets,” he suggested. No need to ask his parents. Toting the rifle and scraps of paper, we carried all the collected wisdom of our 11-year old brains to his backyard.

The targets were okay, but boring; we wanted more, a real enemy. Lanny suggested his GI Joe would be a worthy foe. We propped it up in a tree. “Let’s see how tough you are now, GI Schmoe.” Yes, we were clever beyond our years.

Do you know what happens when you shoot a BB at hard plastic? It ricochets. It’s like, “I shot an arrow into the air…” In very little time, one of those little projectiles flew over the fence and cracked the neighbor’s sliding glass door. I guess Joe got the last laugh on that one. I can tell you who wasn’t laughing–Lanny’s mom.

Was Lanny a bad kid? Not at all. Nor were the Whitney brothers, Paul and Bill. Like me they had free run most of the time, especially in the hot Central Valley summers.

Elmer Wood Elementary School was a block away. Now there are gates and locks and fences to keep out the ne’er do wells. Back then it was wide open. We’d wander over there, never for nefarious purposes, just out of boredom. They had a fenced playground, lots of blacktop, and a gigantic open field for recess.

One of our discoveries was a game-changer, our chance to give back to the community. To this day, I’m sure Atwater has no idea how much good we did. The secret can now be shared.

Wandering the hallways and scoping out the bushes, we discovered lots of little areas where insects lived. There were long rows of shrubs as well as nooks and crannies in the steel pillars. Even at age ten, we were live and let live folks. We did, however, feel a burden to the little ones who went to school there. (Ironically, none of the three of us ever went to school at Elmer Wood, except for kindergarten. We were simply junior superheroes.)

We discovered Elmer Wood was inhabited by a fair number of Black Widows. Yes, they’re poisonous, but they’re not deadly. Plus, we had a duty to our fellow man, a higher calling. We became the GEW, the Guardians of Elmer Wood. Bigger and faster than any Black Widow, we were invulnerable.

Distinctive in color, they were easy to find and easier to kill. Sometime, we’d bring jars with us and capture them, studying them in a not so natural habitat. After a day or so, we’d kill ’em.

To the city of Atwater and the children whose lives we improved, the GEW simply say, “You’re welcome.”

Our forays extended to the open fields. On a far less successful and far dumber endeavor, Paul and Bill and I tried to capture the gophers who piled up large, unsightly piles of dirt. We had no real plan for this one. If we saw a gopher stick his little head out of the hole, we’d begin digging furiously, reaching arms as far as we could into the hole.

It was a terrible plan. Of course, the gophers scurried away in their little tunnel. We’d move on to another pile of dirt.

Gophers aren’t deadly, but I’m sure they’re laden with bacteria. Fortunately, the GEW rodent elimination mission was a 100% failure.

I’m reminded of all this because of some friends I see outside my front door every night. Currently, there are four lizards (Ruby told me they’re salamanders) lurking on the brick archway, eating insects attracted by the porch light. Good for them, I say. I never try to catch them. I watch for a minute or two every night and give them a little head nod before I go to bed. They are my Personal Insect Protectors. Yep, Hurls and the Pips.

I’ve always loved lizards. Paul and Bill and I used to catch them in a field full of large rocks, broken glass, and garbage behind Bellevue Bowl. It was difficult work as lizards are lightning quick.

Simple process. One person would tip over a rock to see if anything ran out from underneath. If so, we’d try to corner it. If we caught one, we’d put him in a jar and take him home for closer study. We’d throw in some leaves and sticks, maybe a stray insect or two for food and some water.

Unlike the Black Widows, lizards were strictly catch and release. They were harmless and helpful and cute. I imagine if the roles were reversed on some alien planet, a group of lizards might catch me, observe me, and then let me go. “He’s a GEW,” one would say in his lizard language. “Let him go.”

These anecdotes are but the tip of a very large iceberg of childhood folly. I will save for another day a field that caught fire, launching water balloons and eggs, more broken windows, pilfering 2-liters from a friend’s garage…you get the idea. We weren’t searching for the dead body of Ray Brower, battling Vecna in Hawkins, Indiana, or slaying Pennywise the clown. No, our exploits weren’t worthy of a movie. Just dumb things kids do.

I’ll say this for my parents (and those of my friend’s). We were given the freedom to fail, to persevere and overcome. They trusted us, maybe too much, but they trusted us. There’s something in their wisdom, I think.

But what do I know? I’m just a survivor.

Thanks for reading!

If you like this blog, please subscribe with an email address in the box below. It’s quick, simple, and free.

Also, check out my books on Amazon.

Tales from the Deli, a collection of short stories, is my third book. I’m very excited about this one. Have you ordered yet? You really should.

All three books are available through Amazon, on Kindle or paperback.

Click HERE to order. Or scan the QR.