The sky has a white glow; the sun is nearly set. In Scotland it is called

the gloaming. Kids running in the grass square that sits

in the middle of the camp sites. Some are on swings, a few play catch, the rest chase each other or play

games whose rules evolve constantly as imagination and energy dictate.
60 years later,

I remember those games and the freedom of playing until dark,
free from parents’ control. We’d use the entire block for capture the flag,

play army with guns we’d cut from scrap wood, make sporadic raids on someone’s

kitchen for water or graham crackers. Bats and mosquito hawks flitted

overhead,

silhouetted by the glow of streetlights just coming on. It was a time

of magic…

we just didn’t know it. A few of us were called in early,

most of us stayed until it was dark. If my sisters and I pushed the limit, we’d hear

my father whistle,

a final warning to come in or else. His whistle could be

heard for blocks. His call was the final arbiter. If we went in,

everyone else went in.

He was a cop after all. He carried a certain authority in the neighborhood.

(In later
years he was known to follow newly licensed drivers who had a traffic offense home and talk to their parents rather than ticketing them. This included
one or two of my friends)

Lance and Rusty lived in a house diagonally across the street, They had a huge

double lot, perfect for touch football

or practicing catching pop flies. Directly cross from us was the Gillilands. Their daughter was Lora’s age. They had a croquet set put out all summer, the cart with the balls and mallets was left out

and we played whenever we wanted.

Four or five blocks north of us was the
town’s big park. There was a wading pool,

the city swimming pool,

and a clam shell shaped bandstand. Below the bandstand was a small apartment where

a young police officer and his wife lived. They stayed for free in exchange for his

policing the park. At the far end was a baseball field

where summer leagues played. Our dad frequently umpired games

and we’d walk down to watch for a bit

before we lost interest and spent our nickels and dimes at the snack bar

and walked back home.
It was a safe time, and we were happy walking in the summer night.

Porch lights made pools on the pavement,

a breeze from the prairie stirred the trees
with the smell of sage.

Crickets chirped. It was a good place to begin a life,

before the world got angry and dissatisfied.

We go home in the morning.

Blessings

Posts The Road