Today is Saturday, December 16th. When I was a young boy, Saturday was a day of rest. My brother Tom and I would burst into our parents’ bedroom just about 8 o’clock, jumping on the bed and play-wrestling with Dad.
In those days, only one person needed to be the family breadwinner. If one of us got sick, Dr. Gallagher would come to the house, do all the requisite poking, prodding, temperature-taking, etc and then have his office send a bill for a house call in a few days and that would be that.
We weren’t rich. We, like everyone else on our quiet street, would be considered ‘middle class’. Christian, Jew, Catholic, we all lived and got along well on North 7th Street in New Hyde Park, Long Island, N.Y.
Many of us, being Christian or Catholic decorated our homes with strings of outdoor lights and put up our Christmas trees in the living room or den. Our Jewish neighbors put Menorahs in their windows. We didn’t have to confront the issue of ‘political correctness’ in those days.
During most of the year, Saturday was the day of the week when we took a leisurely breakfast. Mom sent us up the street to the bakery with a couple of bucks and we (my brother, Tommy and I)purchased some rolls (an assortment really; some poppyseed, some plain white with a crispy crust dusted with flour, a few jelly…), then dashed home before they lost their gentle warmth.
After breakfast it was time for ‘chores’. Typically, for my brother and I, this meant making our beds, putting our toys or other stuff away where they belonged. Outside, there was lawn work. Power lawnmowers were regarded as luxuries; we used the good old push mowers with the large wheels and semi-helix-shaped blades that propelled the grass back into our sneakers. If the grass had dew left on it, of course that meant that the grass would attach itself to our dungarees bottoms. We easterners called them dungarees, not “Levi’s” ™ or jeans. (see “Dungaree Doll” by Eddie Fisher ca. 1953).
By the time the yard work was done, it was usually time for lunch. At that time, any leftover rolls from breakfast would be adapted to accept cold cuts (Dad), peanut butter and jelly (Tommy and me), or what-have-you, or perhaps a bowl of soup.
Post-lunch would be the time to ride my bike over to my buddie’s house, where a group of us guys would decide where to bike to. The sort of stuff like the boys did in “E.T.”, just riding around. We didn’t know that you could do the acrobatics that those boys did; we were just enjoying the feel of the air rushing over our faces and through our hair.
Most often the destination was the schoolyard (Hillside Grade School) for bike stunting – who could do the most dramatic side-skid on the dirt, who could go the fastest then slam on the brake and leave a long patch of rubber on the cement sidewalk. Real daring stuff.
Summertime Saturdays might, on occasion, be special enough for a trip to the beach. The ride to Jones Beach seemed interminable to young boys, though it was probably not more than 45 minutes. Being close enough to the Gulf Stream on the east coast, the water temperature at Jones Beach drew great hordes of people during the summer; even those summer days when there would be a slight drizzle, people still came out, using their umbrellas to shield them from the moisture just as they used them to protect them from the sun.
The trip home from the beach, our bodies sun-pinked, would go by in a flash, usually because we fell asleep three minutes after getting into the car.
Other seasons had their rites; leaves in the fall, snow in the winter, rains in the spring; Saturdays were always special.
Who says the ‘Good old days’ weren’t all that good?
Tomorrow: Tommy
Today is Saturday, December 16th; 764 days until the end of the Bush Administration.
In those days, only one person needed to be the family breadwinner. If one of us got sick, Dr. Gallagher would come to the house, do all the requisite poking, prodding, temperature-taking, etc and then have his office send a bill for a house call in a few days and that would be that.
We weren’t rich. We, like everyone else on our quiet street, would be considered ‘middle class’. Christian, Jew, Catholic, we all lived and got along well on North 7th Street in New Hyde Park, Long Island, N.Y.
Many of us, being Christian or Catholic decorated our homes with strings of outdoor lights and put up our Christmas trees in the living room or den. Our Jewish neighbors put Menorahs in their windows. We didn’t have to confront the issue of ‘political correctness’ in those days.
During most of the year, Saturday was the day of the week when we took a leisurely breakfast. Mom sent us up the street to the bakery with a couple of bucks and we (my brother, Tommy and I)purchased some rolls (an assortment really; some poppyseed, some plain white with a crispy crust dusted with flour, a few jelly…), then dashed home before they lost their gentle warmth.
After breakfast it was time for ‘chores’. Typically, for my brother and I, this meant making our beds, putting our toys or other stuff away where they belonged. Outside, there was lawn work. Power lawnmowers were regarded as luxuries; we used the good old push mowers with the large wheels and semi-helix-shaped blades that propelled the grass back into our sneakers. If the grass had dew left on it, of course that meant that the grass would attach itself to our dungarees bottoms. We easterners called them dungarees, not “Levi’s” ™ or jeans. (see “Dungaree Doll” by Eddie Fisher ca. 1953).
By the time the yard work was done, it was usually time for lunch. At that time, any leftover rolls from breakfast would be adapted to accept cold cuts (Dad), peanut butter and jelly (Tommy and me), or what-have-you, or perhaps a bowl of soup.
Post-lunch would be the time to ride my bike over to my buddie’s house, where a group of us guys would decide where to bike to. The sort of stuff like the boys did in “E.T.”, just riding around. We didn’t know that you could do the acrobatics that those boys did; we were just enjoying the feel of the air rushing over our faces and through our hair.
Most often the destination was the schoolyard (Hillside Grade School) for bike stunting – who could do the most dramatic side-skid on the dirt, who could go the fastest then slam on the brake and leave a long patch of rubber on the cement sidewalk. Real daring stuff.
Summertime Saturdays might, on occasion, be special enough for a trip to the beach. The ride to Jones Beach seemed interminable to young boys, though it was probably not more than 45 minutes. Being close enough to the Gulf Stream on the east coast, the water temperature at Jones Beach drew great hordes of people during the summer; even those summer days when there would be a slight drizzle, people still came out, using their umbrellas to shield them from the moisture just as they used them to protect them from the sun.
The trip home from the beach, our bodies sun-pinked, would go by in a flash, usually because we fell asleep three minutes after getting into the car.
Other seasons had their rites; leaves in the fall, snow in the winter, rains in the spring; Saturdays were always special.
Who says the ‘Good old days’ weren’t all that good?
Tomorrow: Tommy
Today is Saturday, December 16th; 764 days until the end of the Bush Administration.
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