Inner city summer life was the epitome of what a childhood should look like. The sound of children playing outside started as early as 9:00am on summer days. The jingle “doggy doggy diamond” was your alarm clock or hearing the words “NOT IT” would have you begging your mother to let you skip breakfast so you can rush outside to “put your foot in”.
Life couldn’t be any better. The smell of honey suckle in your face, while trying to hide quietly, listening for footsteps scrambling in the grass. The clapping sound of wire ropes hitting the ground came right after being picked by the older girls to be a “turner” in a game of double Dutch. You would wear your smile like a badge of honor as the older girls picked you because you “ain’t double handed”.
Mid-day would come and mothers would slide hotdogs and beans through the front door on the porch..lunch time!
“Y’all not gonna be running in and out this house."
“WE’RE NOT!” we would shout back.
No time time to wash our hands, we scarfed down our food so we can get back to the afternoon's main event: bike riding! Empty quarter water containers in the spokes on the wheels turned your BMX bike into a motorcycle to zoom all around the town!
A stop at the corner store for a 25 cent bag of chips before swinging back home for a neighborhood water ballon fight. My mom or dad would fill up the balloons and put them in a bucket, by the door, because they didn’t want my brothers and I wetting up the floors. Also, they hated hearing the screen door slam along with our footsteps and giggles as we would attempt to walk quickly so we didn’t get yelled at.
“What I say about slamming that screen door?” My mom would say.
We would just giggle and run back outside. As long as mom was the one yelling we were okay. We knew we were in real trouble when dad’s deep voice would interject.
"Let’s hurry up and get out of here" we'd whisper, laughing.
Dirty shoestrings, sluggish socks, stretched out shirt collars, and twisted shorts was the “outside all day” attire. Frizzy dusty hair, sweaty foreheads, accessorized with candy necklaces that tasted like sweet dirt.
“Wait, do you hear something?” one of us would say.
A tiny melody in the distance grew louder and louder, coming closer and closer
“ICE CREAMMMM”
We all scatter back to our house, to ask our dad for money to get ice cream. My dad would stop what he was doing and come outside
“what you want” he asked and I would tell him. “Give her a strawberry shortcake and give the boys whatever they want.. You can get only ONE THING” as he looked at my greedy brothers, with a side eye.
They were always eating the last of everything! Feeling like a princess, I walked back to the porch with my dad, and sat down to eat my strawberry shortcake licking the bottom of the ice cream stick trying to “catch it” before it melted.
“Thank you daddy” I said as he walked inside, back to what he had been doing.
On the front porch, we crouched together, figuring out our next move. As cars ride past with their music playing loud, we roger rabbit and whoop to the beat while taking the last slurp of our melted ice cream soup. We had a couple of ideas: cartoon tag, tops, flipping, racing, hop scotch, freeze tag... we couldn’t make up our mind so it came down to rock, paper scissors. But before anyone could move, my brilliant brother shouted 'Acorn Fight'. This is when I hang up my pink, now brownish-pink sneakers, and decide to go in. I don’t wanna be hit like a boy, the saying that was used to describe how hard they were gonna throw the Acorns. My day is over. Bye, boys!
Laughter and yelling; crying over scraped knees or being 'caught' (game over) were the sounds that closed out the rest of the evening. The slow glow and buzzing of the street lights was the indicator that is was time to go in.
“Go wash your hands and get ready for dinner” Mama said.
Sitting at the dinner table, cracking jokes, amused us for the rest of the night. Shower and bed was our next stop. As we lay in bed, we would plot and plan our tomorrow... and knock out in the middle of a sentence.
There was nothing like summer time. *sighs* I'm nostalgic these days, as I work these hot sticky days now, as an adult. As I raise my last "baby" known as my Bookstore: OurStory. Even though I love my life now, there was nothing like those hot, sticky summer nights as a kid. Tell me your favorite, childhood memory!
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Artwork by: Kadir Nelson; Please visit his site for purchases www.kadirnelson.com
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