Thank you for our Good Old Days

The Stanley Cup Playoffs are finally over and the trophy will be enjoying the good life in Sunrise, Florida, until next year’s winning team is announced.  After watching four rounds of best of seven games, I’ve seen enough Hockey to last me until next season. Most of the “summer games” don’t hold my interest as much so I guess I’ll have to find something else to while away my evenings.  I sure do miss the summers of long ago.

            Bike riding was the number one sport in our neighborhood.  I remember staring out the window watching kids race past my house, a veritable blur of reds and blues.  The cool kids customized their rides with balloons or baseball cards wedged in the spokes of the wheels, making a sputtering, racecar sound.  I wanted to be out there!  I knew I could ride just as fast and be a racer to be reckoned with!

            Hinting, suggesting, out and out begging didn’t work with my mother.  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.  Do you see any other girls out there?”  The only other girl in the neighborhood was a dweeb who recreated by sitting on her porch steps, watching the cars go by.  We finally got to a “maybe when you’re older” response.  Magically, on Christmas day, a blue girl’s Schwinn bicycle, with training wheels, was nestled next to the tree.  Dreams do come true!

            Unfortunately, December, January, February, etc., usually coincides with lots of snow in Chicago. My brand new hot rod transportation remained in the living room until enough snow melted or got blown away for my mother to allow my lessons to commence.  After a few shaky starts, I got the hang of it and was ready to travel on my own.  Then my mom laid down the rule that I couldn’t go further than my house and the one next door.  That was about as good as driving a Ferrari the length of a swimming pool!!!  My dad intervened and was able to negotiate a deal where I could go to the end of our street, if I was careful.

            Needless to say, the training wheels soon came off and I steadily expanded my territory.  My Schwinn and I roared through the neighborhood, baseball cards clicking and my hair blowing in the wind.  Yes, I did end up crashing into a tree and rearranging the handlebars and bike chain, as well as dinging up the metal and my knees. Was it worth it?  YES.

                A few years later, my boyfriend, Jerry, confessed that he had never ridden a bicycle.  That was a memorable summer, full of laughs and life threatening moments.  Our neighbors never understood why their garage doors had scratches and dents or why their garbage cans were moved.  Somehow, they missed hearing the screams and occasional expletives coming from the alleyways behind their houses. 

            For a final test, I took him to the neighborhood park and let him ride on the pathways.  He started going downhill a little too fast and I found him, bike under him, feet planted on the ground, right at the edge of the lagoon.  We gave up his lessons for a while.  It might have been a problem if he had fallen into the lagoon since he didn’t know how to swim either.  He eventually did get the hang of bike riding and we both looked back on that summer as one of the really best of “the good old days.” 

            I wonder what the writers of the Declaration of Independence would think about their country now that it’s all grown up.  Would they be surprised at what we have become or dismayed?  Regardless, we are a multifaceted people, coming from places unknown in their time, with challenges and aspirations unfamiliar and or similar to theirs.  I personally think Benjamin Franklin, with his scientific mind, and broad sense of humor, would chuckle a bit.  The rest of the signers, I don’t know how they would take us.  All I know for sure is that they gave up a lot for us to be here today.  Five of those signers were captured by the British, tortured and killed. Twelve signers had their homes burned to the ground.  Two signers had sons killed in the Revolutionary War and two signers had sons captured.  Nine signers fought in the war and died for us. 

            These fifty-six men who drafted and signed the Declaration of Independence gave much of their lives so that we can remember our “Good Old Days.” Let us hope that our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will have good memories to pass on, and will remember that our freedom was not and will never be free,

Sharon