Spring and summer of 1966 seemed like such a glorious time,at least in my mind.Days and days of nice weather,all through the spring,summer and even into fall.I'm sure it must have rained on occasion too,but I just remember it as a carefree time with nothing to do but play in the neighborhood and meet new friends.
The neighborhood was about to expand and open up to me in a way it never had before.It all had to do with that beautiful red tricycle I'd received at Christmas,the one that I'd only been riding in the basement up until this point.It was bigger than most tricycles,bright red with white handle bars and streamers at the end of each handle.At least for a short time.The streamers didn't seem to last very long,but no matter,now I could get around the neighborhood in a way I never had before.
Moncton,in those days was a rather small,quiet,some might even say sleepy town,where nothing much ever happened.For young children,it was a safe town.Nobody worried much about the things parents worry about today.Nobody even locked their doors when they went out to the store or any place like that.It would have been considered an oversight if you'd locked the door and someone you knew came to visit and couldn't get inside the house and make themselves comfortable.A lot of people would leave a key hidden under a mat or some place like that,even right in the mailbox.But a good many people just left the door unlocked.This included my parents.That's just the way they were,just the way they reasoned about such things at the time,and just the sort of trust they had about the kind of town we lived in.So,accordingly,at five years of age I was permitted to venture farther from home.
I'd gone everywhere I went up until this point with my parents.Downtown or just walking around in the hood.That had included a good deal of walking around.Usually the longest walk we took on a regular basis was down to the community college to get our hair cut at the barber school.So I was familiar with the area in which we lived.Sort of.I didn't really know many kids around and about until I got that tricycle.After not too many days I was allowed to stray a bit farther from home,down to the corner of Gilbert Street,two full blocks away.I was allowed to drive down Gilbert,or Willet Streets to their end.Both of those streets were dead ends that ended one block of of our street.And soon after I was allowed to venture down Crandall Street to the first fire hydrant past where Willet dead ended.About a block and a half from home.
All of this might not sound like a lot,and in fact it wasn't in terms of actual area.But up until this point I was expected to stay inside of our yard,with the exception of being allowed to go a few steps up the street on our side.Once Karen's family moved in across the street,and after I'd gotten out of the calaboose from the rock fight,I was allowed to go over to her [place,so long as an adult watched me cross the street.So the new freedom I was allowed when I got that tricycle expanded my territory by at least a factor of ten.There was a lot of new places to explore,and I was quick to get on with the business of doing just that.
I got to know the kids up and down the street on our side of Watson,or at least most of them.this was great because there were no other boys to hang with on our block.Karen was a completely companionable playmate,but she didn't much care for trucks.But down just past the first corner there was a large family that lived in one of the older houses,and they had a ton of boys.Actually,they had a ton of children,most of whom were boys.My father would always say it was because they were Catholic that they had so many children.But that family made up most of the kids who would hang out and play in Willet Street.Not one of them was exactly my own age,but I still hung out with them,and some others,playing guns or racing our bicycles,or,in my case tricycles.We'd play tag too or hide and seek.And a few of the older boys played hockey.If you didn't go to school though,the older boys didn't let you play.I guess that was kind of a good thing because the older kids could be kind of passionate about hockey,almost like they were Canadian or some such thing.Sticks could get to flying around too and there was even the odd fight.So it wasn't really a great activity for pre- school children.Once or twice some of the kids even took part in another well established Canadian road hockey tradition.That involved stopping the game in the span of about a second,gathering up sticks and any other equipment that was laying around and high tailing it for the hills because a cop car had turned onto the street.It was kind of funny to watch.It was rumored that if the cops caught kids playing hockey on the road,they would confiscate all of your equipment,and drive you home to your parents.So,whenever a cop car turned into the street,ten different kids would clear the playing area and scatter in ten different directions.I'm not certain why,because those ten kids likely lived in a grand total of maybe three or four houses,and I'm fairly certain that the police knew where all of those houses were.But,even from the first time I ever saw a kid pick up a hockey net and take off hell bent into the woods,tripping over roots and snagging himself and the net on every low hanging branch of every tree,and sometimes wiping out into poison ivy,I regarded it as rather amusing.If only because it was about the only place you would ever see that much action in our neighborhood.I always kind of suspected that the cops though about it that way too,because I'd never seen them actually gather up anyone's sticks or other hockey equipment.Playing in the road was technically illegal,for good reason,but the cops likely thought kids would learn their lesson by having to run for it,and the cops,of course wouldn't have to generate a lot of paperwork.Those were the sorts of things I got to see once I could venture farther from home.
The neighborhood was about to expand and open up to me in a way it never had before.It all had to do with that beautiful red tricycle I'd received at Christmas,the one that I'd only been riding in the basement up until this point.It was bigger than most tricycles,bright red with white handle bars and streamers at the end of each handle.At least for a short time.The streamers didn't seem to last very long,but no matter,now I could get around the neighborhood in a way I never had before.
Moncton,in those days was a rather small,quiet,some might even say sleepy town,where nothing much ever happened.For young children,it was a safe town.Nobody worried much about the things parents worry about today.Nobody even locked their doors when they went out to the store or any place like that.It would have been considered an oversight if you'd locked the door and someone you knew came to visit and couldn't get inside the house and make themselves comfortable.A lot of people would leave a key hidden under a mat or some place like that,even right in the mailbox.But a good many people just left the door unlocked.This included my parents.That's just the way they were,just the way they reasoned about such things at the time,and just the sort of trust they had about the kind of town we lived in.So,accordingly,at five years of age I was permitted to venture farther from home.
I'd gone everywhere I went up until this point with my parents.Downtown or just walking around in the hood.That had included a good deal of walking around.Usually the longest walk we took on a regular basis was down to the community college to get our hair cut at the barber school.So I was familiar with the area in which we lived.Sort of.I didn't really know many kids around and about until I got that tricycle.After not too many days I was allowed to stray a bit farther from home,down to the corner of Gilbert Street,two full blocks away.I was allowed to drive down Gilbert,or Willet Streets to their end.Both of those streets were dead ends that ended one block of of our street.And soon after I was allowed to venture down Crandall Street to the first fire hydrant past where Willet dead ended.About a block and a half from home.
All of this might not sound like a lot,and in fact it wasn't in terms of actual area.But up until this point I was expected to stay inside of our yard,with the exception of being allowed to go a few steps up the street on our side.Once Karen's family moved in across the street,and after I'd gotten out of the calaboose from the rock fight,I was allowed to go over to her [place,so long as an adult watched me cross the street.So the new freedom I was allowed when I got that tricycle expanded my territory by at least a factor of ten.There was a lot of new places to explore,and I was quick to get on with the business of doing just that.
I got to know the kids up and down the street on our side of Watson,or at least most of them.this was great because there were no other boys to hang with on our block.Karen was a completely companionable playmate,but she didn't much care for trucks.But down just past the first corner there was a large family that lived in one of the older houses,and they had a ton of boys.Actually,they had a ton of children,most of whom were boys.My father would always say it was because they were Catholic that they had so many children.But that family made up most of the kids who would hang out and play in Willet Street.Not one of them was exactly my own age,but I still hung out with them,and some others,playing guns or racing our bicycles,or,in my case tricycles.We'd play tag too or hide and seek.And a few of the older boys played hockey.If you didn't go to school though,the older boys didn't let you play.I guess that was kind of a good thing because the older kids could be kind of passionate about hockey,almost like they were Canadian or some such thing.Sticks could get to flying around too and there was even the odd fight.So it wasn't really a great activity for pre- school children.Once or twice some of the kids even took part in another well established Canadian road hockey tradition.That involved stopping the game in the span of about a second,gathering up sticks and any other equipment that was laying around and high tailing it for the hills because a cop car had turned onto the street.It was kind of funny to watch.It was rumored that if the cops caught kids playing hockey on the road,they would confiscate all of your equipment,and drive you home to your parents.So,whenever a cop car turned into the street,ten different kids would clear the playing area and scatter in ten different directions.I'm not certain why,because those ten kids likely lived in a grand total of maybe three or four houses,and I'm fairly certain that the police knew where all of those houses were.But,even from the first time I ever saw a kid pick up a hockey net and take off hell bent into the woods,tripping over roots and snagging himself and the net on every low hanging branch of every tree,and sometimes wiping out into poison ivy,I regarded it as rather amusing.If only because it was about the only place you would ever see that much action in our neighborhood.I always kind of suspected that the cops though about it that way too,because I'd never seen them actually gather up anyone's sticks or other hockey equipment.Playing in the road was technically illegal,for good reason,but the cops likely thought kids would learn their lesson by having to run for it,and the cops,of course wouldn't have to generate a lot of paperwork.Those were the sorts of things I got to see once I could venture farther from home.
No comments:
Post a Comment