I was speaking with a co-worker earlier today and we started talking about the craziness going on at some schools these days. I will admit, there were times I got into some mischief in my younger days. Thinking back, most of it was pretty dumb. I reckon doing dumb stuff is part of growing up. Seems like “dumb stuff” back then was a lot more innocent than “dumb stuff” is today. Nowadays, some of the “dumb stuff” kids do can get them into trouble that will haunt them for years, possibly for the rest of their life.
One thing we talked about was the fact that we don’t seem to have a sense of “neighborhood” anymore. I remember when I was in my early childhood days, we lived in a neighborhood that had several kids around my age. There was Mickey and Warren across the street. Patricia (according to my six-year-old eyes, one of the prettiest creatures the Good Lord ever created) and her younger brother, Bert, lived across the street and down a couple of houses. Then, Ruth Ann and her sister, Jogie, lived down the road. My dad, who was a part-time little league football coach, had a coach’s whistle he would blow whenever he felt the need to summon either of my sisters or me home. We knew when we heard that whistle we had better be running home. Other neighborhood dads caught on and began using the “whistle technique.” It was hard to tell one whistle from the next, so whenever one whistle would blow, you would see kids scattering all up and down Cypress Street. On any given day, any of us could be at any number of houses. Other moms and dads looked after us, just as if we were their own. Other moms and dads would correct us as well. It was well engrained in us that if another parent ever had to discipline us, we were sure to receive severe correction from our own dad. As kids growing up, we felt safe, because we were safe. There was a village of grown-ups who looked after us.