Childhood Memories

by Sherry Wood Tyler '70

I wrote the following after taking a walk to my old neighborhood in 1975. The Jenny and David referred to are Jenny and David Tanner. Greg was our neighbor across the street.

The monkey swing still hangs from the once small branches of the worm-ridden Chinese elm tree, a new rope securing it to the tree. Toys are scattered in the mud of the grass-bare spot at the base under the protective shade of the leafy branches, and a faintly visible chalk hopscotch outline lies in the driveway. There are no children in sight; probably all had, a few moments before I arrived, been called to dinner by their mothers, and are just now settling to familiar dinners of friend chicken and cream gravy or a hamburger sandwich in front of the TV to watch Emergency or Adam 12. What had it been when I was their age, on this same street, in this very house at dinner time ? Dragnet? Dobie Gillis? Father Knows Best?

I smile, remembering those summer days, always recalled as lazy ones. Those were times when David, Greg and I would play army or Three Stooges. David would be Larry; Greg, Curley; and I, possibly because I had the longest hair (cut in "pixie" fashion as was always my summer style) would be Moe, the leader. I thought that to be very "stud" until I realized from watching TV that Moe was always sticking his fingers into Curley's nose or getting a pie in the face. Eventually, we began to take turns, at my insistence, at being the different Stooges.

The summer days then had no temporal value to us. We often started our days in early morning with our mothers cautioning us to be very quiet in case Mr. And Mrs. Looney, the retired couple, were still sleeping. The only interruptions for us during the course of the day were necessary one: meals, bathroom, and, of course, to get money for the ice cream man. After dinner, we would congregate in one of the yards for a game of hide and seek or red light-green light in the early evening. Just as the sky would begin to darken, the porch lights at each house would blink on, and a mother would call in her respective child for the night. Good-byes would be said, and no plans would be made for the next day for we knew it would hold very little difference from this day.

Our days were never short, nor were they especially varied, but rarely did we get bored. Jenny, David's little sister, would watch us play while she swung from her monkey swing, a red metal contraption, circular in shape suspended from the tree branch by a sturdy rope. She would sit on that swing, clutching a package of Fig Newtons in one hand and her Chatty Cathy doll in the other, all the time trying to keep her balance on the swing. Eventually, this position earned her the nick-name, "Monkey". Possibly now, with the advent of Sesame Street, "Cookie Monster" would have been as appropriate. Jenny could often be seen in early morning, even before the rest of us kids were out and about, parading down the street, thumb in mouth, trailed by her huge springer spaniel, Chief. They made quite a comical pair, Jenny so small and seemingly indpendent in the quiet morning sunlight and Chief so large and loving. It really doesn't seem so very long ago. The picture is still so clear in my thoughts.

There were days when David, Greg, Jenny and I would just sit in the summer heat and let the day go by, waiting for something, not knowing what, to happen. We rode bikes each day for weeks, then, the bikes would be put aside for roller skates for a few days; then we would begin to make daily trips to the neighborhood park swimming pool where we would get brown skin and blond hair. Many times, we would obtain permission to walk the few blocks to the drug store to sip cherry cokes at the fountain counter there.

The fountain has since been removed, and in its place is a glass case filled with cold remedies and bed pans; but, I vividly remember the red stools at the counter and the two booths in the back corner where we often saw a boy and girl sharing a drink and holding hands under the table. We would all look at one another and giggle, though we were in awe of the couple and their teenage thoughts we did not yet understand.

Standing at this place in front of the tree and the swing, I wonder if those days ever happen here. Possibly, they are gone forever. No more Larry, Curley and Moe waking the neighbors with gales of hysterical laughter early on a Saturday morning; no more thumb-sucking monkey pulling a string on the neck of a doll who asks to have her hair brushed; no more waiting for minutes which seemed to be hours for the Mel-O-Dee Ice Cream man to bring our Fundgesicles. Perhaps those days were taken away along with the fountain at the drugstore, to be tucked away in some forgotten place in a memory attic.

Turning from the swing and the other toys, I begin my short walk back home. Just before reaching the corner of the street, I hear a front door slam, then another. Suddenly, as I turn to watch, the quiet yards are being filled with children spilling from their houses to the grassy lawns laughing and greeting one another. Three of the bigger children mount their bicycles, preparing, it seems, to survey the activities of the neighborhood atop wheels. Looking once again toward the monkey swing, I notice a small girl, much younger than the others, tugging at the rope of the swing. In her other hand is what appears to be a crumbling cookie, perhaps her dessert, held tightly high above her head in a futile effort to keep it from the hungry jaws of a large dog that is licking at her hand.

This last scene is all I need to contentedly walk the few blocks home to that other, "grown up" world I now occupy, secure in the knowledge that my childhood will live on.

-Sherry Wood
May 1975

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