Seasons
When I think of the season's change, birds chirping all over the place, day and night, trees budding, I think of when my kids were younger. The seasons changed somewhere deep inside them with no budding leaves, birds chirping or climate difference.
All at once they began to dig in drawers, clostets, old purses for ten little jacks, a little red or brown ball. Then I would hear the plunk, plunk, of the ball against our hardwood floors, or the metallic sound of jacks being scraped across cement of the porch, or the hard floors. I would be pulling out a splinter a day from these floors, pour alcohol on the wound and the the bounce of the balls would start all over. The girls carried little pouches everywhere of jacks and balls. When we visited friends with children there would be a cry, "did you bring you jacks?" and the game was on.
Just as I slipped into the rhythm of ones and tens and back down again, the jacks were away and out came the yoyo's. I now heard the clank of Duncan Yoyos against walls, floors and lamps and vases falling to the floor as they "walked the dog" or "rocked the baby in the cradle". Before the last vase went to heaven, out came the skates from the closet. I heard the rolling wheels up and down the road, the porch, and carried the first aid kit around my neck, in case. I learned the fastest route to the hospital and doctor's office. I learned to make room for skate cases, other kids with skate cases and all the hours that the rink was open.
About the time I had all those plans organized, it became softball time in the barn yard. This time the konk of the baseball against the bat, the bikes, the window was heard throughout the land. I kept the hospital route memorized. There were family games in the barnyard. Family games in the park. I learned how to bunt. I was real proud. Thought about sturdier sneakers for me. Then it was fishing time.
The kids dug worms all night, fished all day at the crick, or we went to the reservoir as a family,with picnics and, yes, bathing suits. And we sometimes added a basketball.
Because, somehow basketball got intertwined with all this activity. This was before we had organized, softball teams, swimming teams, championships for this and that for kids. It was a time of listening to the beat of the heart of earth and of just doing all of these because it was the time to do it, and it was fun. Do children still have their own seasons anymore, just for them? Or is it all organized. Every minute of their life? I never see kids with yoyos, playing jacks, jump rope, just playing basetball or baseball or even touch football in their yard or a field of just them. Tell me it still happens, somewhere. I'm not sure I see kids outside anymore.
All at once they began to dig in drawers, clostets, old purses for ten little jacks, a little red or brown ball. Then I would hear the plunk, plunk, of the ball against our hardwood floors, or the metallic sound of jacks being scraped across cement of the porch, or the hard floors. I would be pulling out a splinter a day from these floors, pour alcohol on the wound and the the bounce of the balls would start all over. The girls carried little pouches everywhere of jacks and balls. When we visited friends with children there would be a cry, "did you bring you jacks?" and the game was on.
Just as I slipped into the rhythm of ones and tens and back down again, the jacks were away and out came the yoyo's. I now heard the clank of Duncan Yoyos against walls, floors and lamps and vases falling to the floor as they "walked the dog" or "rocked the baby in the cradle". Before the last vase went to heaven, out came the skates from the closet. I heard the rolling wheels up and down the road, the porch, and carried the first aid kit around my neck, in case. I learned the fastest route to the hospital and doctor's office. I learned to make room for skate cases, other kids with skate cases and all the hours that the rink was open.
About the time I had all those plans organized, it became softball time in the barn yard. This time the konk of the baseball against the bat, the bikes, the window was heard throughout the land. I kept the hospital route memorized. There were family games in the barnyard. Family games in the park. I learned how to bunt. I was real proud. Thought about sturdier sneakers for me. Then it was fishing time.
The kids dug worms all night, fished all day at the crick, or we went to the reservoir as a family,with picnics and, yes, bathing suits. And we sometimes added a basketball.
Because, somehow basketball got intertwined with all this activity. This was before we had organized, softball teams, swimming teams, championships for this and that for kids. It was a time of listening to the beat of the heart of earth and of just doing all of these because it was the time to do it, and it was fun. Do children still have their own seasons anymore, just for them? Or is it all organized. Every minute of their life? I never see kids with yoyos, playing jacks, jump rope, just playing basetball or baseball or even touch football in their yard or a field of just them. Tell me it still happens, somewhere. I'm not sure I see kids outside anymore.
Labels: Seasons
posted by Sherita Saffer Campbell at 8:37 AM
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