We didn’t have much back then, but neither did anyone else, so it was our normal. In our largely Irish Catholic neighborhood, my best friend, Paddy, was usually by my side on most days where we could be found sitting on the apartment complex stoop. During the week, we both wore the same parochial school uniform that, before anything else, we rapidly changed out of when we walked through the door. Within the neighborhood circle of friends, we mostly had each other, and teamed up against the one or two mean kids who were part of the group. There was rarely any drama, summer was too short and every moment was a gift.
We ruled the sidewalk (or thought we did), which was the best part. Games like jump rope, hopscotch, hide and seek, plus card games like Old Maid were always on the daily play agenda. Those streetlights and summer nights evoke such a sense of nostalgia, a simpler time when the glow of a lamp signaled the end of a long day of play. How we wished that those lights would stay off longer as nighttime rolled in and allow us to enjoy the freedom of staying outside, watching fireflies and listening to the chirping of crickets.
Most summer days had Paddy and myself heading a block away to the candy store, always filling up on nickel candies to fuel our bike rides. Trips to the beach each week left us comparing our sunburns while sharing a Popsicle. Little did we know back then that we had all we needed. Summer was ours and it was sacred because it represented freedom from the nuns, endless school homework and the rigid school uniforms. We thought we were pretty important and made good use of every second until that dreaded, final, shout “Get inside, NOW”, ended the day and had us running like hell for home. Sleep couldn’t come fast enough as we lay in bed, already plotting the next day’s escape.
Those long-ago days outside were our refuge. They hid the painful secrets and silent sorrows within our own apartments. Sometimes, when we were outside, we would whisper about the shouting and arguing we heard through our neighboring walls late at night. When we were out there, the world belonged to us, shielded from the fear of those angry voices and the people behind them. The summer sun wrapped its arms around us and kept us safe. At least for a little while.
From the Writer’s Workshop: Write about your best friend from the old neighborhood.
