My father had three separate whistles for the three of his kids. My brother’s was the usual whistle, my sister’s was a constant whistle swirl, but mine call was two sharp shrills that summoned me home even after the street lights came on.
Rule breakers, we were.
It was the era when teachers pinned notes to parents on a kid’s chest, and when if there was a window broken by a ball or a backyard fight, you parents knew before you got home for dinner. Among things the neighbors didn’t call about, though, were the kids using their properties for games like Free the Dungeon.
Two teams. One hides, the other searches, and that was usually decided on “turns” or rock-paper-scissors. Those discovered go to the front steps of a residence (usually the Conaway’s on Popular Avenue), but if a member of the hiding group sneakily made it to that porch without getting tagged, all were free to hide once again.
Passing notes in school was a thing, too, and it was especially embarrassing when the teacher would confiscate one and read it to the rest of the class. “Dear Lisa, I think you’re cute. Will you go with me?”
During most evenings, life was centered around that phone in the kitchen, and much sooner than later was the chord stretched as far as possible. If you didn’t make much noise, the parents wouldn’t care much, but if something reminded Mom and Dad that you were still on the phone, click.
Remember now, this was before call-waiting came into play.
Impromptu Play
But during most summer days, kids hopped on their Huffy bikes to patrol the neighborhood for friends who were not grounded because of mischief the evening before, and all it took for a pick-up football or baseball game were three other kids and no hitting to right field unless you were left-handed. That just meant we shifted, but “pitcher’s hand” remained in play.
Or maybe it was a backyard whiffle ball game, or kickball in a parking lot, or street hockey with “CAR!!” and “GAME ON” exclaimed over and over again. Plus, there were always the playground options, one of which was all about testing the strength of children while they were rapidly swirled on that infamous carousel until all but one was thrown to the asphalt. That’s right, no rubber or mulch in the 1970s or ’80s, and that’s because it was the last era of when kids learned not to fall simply because it hurt and then bled.
It was all impromptu, though, because we were held constantly accountable since we didn’t have computers – let alone a telephone – in our pockets. It was a time when, if you wanted to know your future, you didn’t use an “app for that” but instead a folded-paper fortune teller.
