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The streets of New York were like a second home to the kids on the block. We started playing the minute school was out and would stay out until dinnertime when you heard your mother yelling out of the window “Tommy!” or “Johnny” or for me is was ‘HEN-RI-ETTA.” When she was mad it was “Yetta” because she knew I hated it and I would come home pissed. In the summertime, we would go out right after breakfast, come home for dinner, then go out after dinner and come home when it started to get dark. I loved playing in the streets or climbing fences with all the boys. I would come home with torn dresses that got stuck on the fence where we would climb. My mother would yell at me because I came home with many torn dresses. Girls really didn’t wear pants during the 50’s. We would also hang out in the park at a building which was the War Memorial Building, but we called it “The White House.” It had all sorts of places where we could hide. When it was hot out we would either go to the pool at Jefferson Park, or when someone wanted to open it up, it was the sprinkler under the Johnny Pump; which was the name given to the Fire Hydrant. They would use a crate box to make the spray or sometimes a soda can.
We didn’t have motorized cars or trucks either. We had handmade Scooters which were made from crate boxes, a 2 x 4 and an old skate. We would decorate them ourselves painting them with our colors and/or numbers. The skates would be nailed to the bottom of the 2 x 4’s and the crate was nailed to the 2 x 4. We would have races down the middle of the block.
When it snowed, we had wooden sleds that we could navigate with a wood slat turning handlebar. When we didn’t have them, we would slide down inclines with whatever we could find…cardboard boxes, tops of garbage cans, or homemade sleighs.
I see my grandchildren nowadays glued to the computer screen, or banging their thumbs away on their cell phones. I wish they could have known what it was like to play outdoors all day long breathing in the fresh air riding on those handmade scooters and sleds, or playing all of those games with dozens of friends in the neighborhood; paying a nickel to the man coming down the block with the cart who was making homemade jelly apples with the jelly dripping on your chin and trying to lick it off with your tongue; or buying a fresh slice of watermelon from the stand in front of the fruit and vegetable store for a nickel a slice.
Don’t get me wrong, I like technology and it has its benefits, but I would trade it for the old days and the old ways any day of the week.