When they’re big enough to reach the pedals, their parents buy them
a tricycle. Virtually every one over five, boy or girl, has a two wheeler. They do things with them that I would never have
thought possible when I was young. I never had a bicycle myself, but those who did were never able to do a “wheelie.”
When we lived in LaGrange, our neighbor, Charlie Marchand, used to be able to ride a bicycle while he was sitting backwards
on the seat. None of us kids were ever able to do that. We thought he was really something, but I never saw him do a “wheelie”.
And skateboards…you should see the things they do. It’s almost
unbelievable. Sometimes you’d think the board was glued to the boys’ shoes, the way they jump over curbs and other
obstacles.
Most of the boys who don’t skateboard have a scooter. These are something
to see. Fancy, with rubber tires that have to be pumped up and a hand brake, too. They’re painted all different colors
with pictures of different creatures on them. They’re very elaborate.
There are at least five go-carts in our neighborhood: Two just plain stripped
down Go-Carts, one replica of a Model T Ford, a Pennzoil Formula racer, and a replica of a Mighty Distributing van.
Still, mothers hear the lament, “There’s nothing to do.”
My brothers were first-class innovators when it came to finding something
to do. Rolling hoops was one of them. They came up with different-sized hoops and wheels that could be pushed with a stick.
Charles went one step further. Somewhere, he came across some pieces of plaster lath. He took a one-foot piece and nailed
it across the end of a four-foot piece, forming a “T”. It made it a whole lot easier to push a hoop, especially
a small one.
I’d hate to try to guess how many miles we rolled rubber tires. We
mostly played follow the leader. The leader would try to find paths that would be hard to follow. I was always last.
There weren’t many trees that my brothers didn’t climb. They
sure did get plenty of exercise. I wasn’t much good at climbing, but I tried. They spent a lot of time climbing in the
barn, too. There wasn’t a foot of climbable space in there that they didn’t cover, walking on the rafters or going
hand over hand all the way across the barn on the hay track. They were strong.
Mom used to buy big cans of hominy from the IGA. We liked the hominy, but
the cans came in handy to play with, too. My brothers would set them on top of fence posts and then throw rocks at them to
try and knock them off. When I played, they let me stand closer to give me a better chance. More than once, we would kick
one of these cans, first one brother then the other, all the way to school—lots more fun than just walking.
Beyond a doubt, the game they invented that gave us the most entertainment
was “Zippy.” There was nothing to buy. All you needed was a saw and an old broom stick cut into two pieces—one
length about eight or nine inches, the other was the rest of the stick with the broom cut off. Next, you dug a small trench
in the ground, about twelve inches long and about three or four inches deep. You needed a playing field about half the size
of a baseball diamond.
The rules were not complicated at all. You might want to write this down.
The player with the long stick was called the batter. The other players were all fielders and they all stood out some ten
to twenty yards from the batter. The short stick was laid across the small trench, like a bridge. The batter would then put
the long stick into the trench behind the short stick and quickly flip it as far as he could toward the fielders. They were
supposed to try to catch it. (Okay, today’s moms might want to add a helmet and some face gear.) If one of the fielders
caught the stick, he became the batter. If no one caught the stick, the batter was still at bat, but this time, instead of
flipping the short stick toward the fielders, he had to toss it up and hit it toward them with the long stick, like a bat. If nobody caught it this time, he had to tap the stick into
the air first, and then hit it out. The next time, he would have to tap it into the air, not just once, but twice. The next
time, three, and so on.
There sure seemed to be no end to the games my brothers could invent in order
to amuse us all. But, for a fact, I don’t remember my brothers ever having any store bought toys.
