I remember the good ol’ days. Back in 1974, I was a mere nine year old, freckle-faced, redheaded sprite. We lived in a one-room shack on the edge of an apple orchard. My mom, alcoholic step-father, my older brother (by three years), me, and a Chihuahua named Tippy. No TV to occupy my time. Yet somehow, I believe if we did have one at the time; I wouldn’t have spent my life in front of a boob tube anyhow. Nope. Reading was my thing. I loved getting lost in a good book. A trip to the library was a grand treat, indeed. However, I recall how excited I used to get when my mom placed a quarter in my hand. It is one of my fondest childhood memories. As soon as that shiny metal hit my palm, I smiled from ear to ear. I was the luckiest kid in the world!
Yup. I would tuck my treasure into my pocket, (or my sock), and then hop on my high-backed banana seat, and pedal like mad. Down to the local Mom n Pop store I would go; riding like the wind. Even though it was a downhill path all the way into town; I couldn’t get there fast enough. My little legs furiously tore into my bike pedals, spinning them so fast that I had to swing my red, (thrift store purchased), Converse sheathed feet out to the side. Woo Hoo! Is there anything more exhilerating than flying!?
Why was I off to the local dime store in such a hurry? To trade my shiny treasure for something better, of course. Two comics and a candy bar! I loved comics! Chocolate, of course, was a given. *heh*
I can’t help but feel a pang of loss now. Not for me, but for my children. In giving them more tangible items than I ever had growing up; I’ve cheated them. I’ve taken away their ability to imagine. I’ve stole their sense of adventure and fun. I’ve buried their creativity.
When the PS1, PS2, Gamecube, or N64 has exhausted their attention span, they turn to me and say, “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.” We have an entire wall full of DVD’s, which the children shrug their shoulders at and say, “I’ve already seen them all.” We have nearly a hundred channels to peruse on our TV; yet they cannot find anything good to watch. We have a shelf, (piled high), with numerous board games; yet these are all “too boring, not any fun“. Outside, we have a wooden swingset, complete with a climbing wall, club house, monkey bars, dual-swing, and a slide. Gosh forbid, I should mention the shelves and shelves of books we have. Sure, they read … but it’s “not exciting enough” for them.
Feck if that doesn’t make me want to cry.
My brother and I used to play army. Our mom couldn’t afford to buy us those little, green, plastic soldiers; but did that stop us? No. When put to task pitting cherries for jam; we each amassed our own plump, round, red armies. We had a blast attacking, pulverising, and dive-bombing our cherry soldiers. To our delight, their wounds would open up and spurt red goo, just like the real thing! Oh yeah, it became a contest of who could inflict the most damage then. By the time we finished pitting for mom, we were covered in cherry juice. *chuckle* I’m surprised we ever left enough cherries for jam. THAT my friends, was fun!
I enjoyed life to the fullest. I rode my bike. I read comic books, magazines, and novels. I killed cherries and zapped ants with a magnifying glass. I ate peanut butter and honey sandwiches, often. I plucked a fresh-from-the-tree apple, from Farmer Brown’s orchard, every morning on the way to the school bus stop. I played tag and hide-n-go-seek with my friends. I climbed trees. I colored, painted, and drew gosh awful pictures (we’re talking stick people, here). I wrote short-stories, poetry, and letters to pals. I stomped through puddles on a rainy day and captured water spiders in the irrigation canals. (They don’t bite … or at least, they never bit me.) I went for walks in the woods, all the while pretending to slay dragons and rescue Knights in distress. I had tea parties with my Raggedy Ann doll. I swam in the pond, or the river, or the lake.
I made my fun, folks. I didn’t ask my mother to become my personal entertainment director. I may have been considered dirt poor, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t make the best of it.
Um, what just happened here? I think I got a bit sidetracked. All I really wanted to do was express how much I miss my “Harvey Comics”, and tell ya the lessons I learned from these comicbook characters. So let’s get back to that, shall we?
Wendy taught me optimism:
Richie Rich taught me that one of the greatest treasures in life is friendship:
Spooky taught me that gruff people have loving hearts too:
Hot Stuff taught me how to be a clever, mischievous, yet lovable brat:
Casper taught me tolerance:
Harvey Comics: Ya gotta love ‘em!
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