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By Sheila Orysiek
 SAN DIEGO——By the time I came home from Hebrew School in the winter it was dark. As I carefully made my way over the ice slick sidewalks of our solidly Jewish neighborhood in Philadelphia, I looked forward to a warm house (one of forty facing another forty across the street) and the hot supper my mother had waiting. But, if it included lumpy mashed potatoes my prospects were not good. Lumpy mashed potatoes made me gag. The rule “finish all the food on your plate” seemed grossly unfair as I hadn’t been the one to put the food on my plate so I had no choice as to what or how much. Long after everyone else had finished I sat there wishing the mashed potatoes would disappear.
However, lumpy mashed potatoes were no problem in the summer. I simply swallowed the lumps whole – to no ill effect. Finishing as quickly as decorum allowed I ran out the front door, taking the three steps down to the sidewalk at one leap. My heart was full, my spirit soaring; the hot day was over though the evening was almost as warm.
There were over one hundred children on our block, but if one discounted those too young and those too old – we averaged about forty youngsters available for street games. Three Feet Off the Ice, Red Rover, Red Light/Green Light and Whirling Statues were favorites.
The telephone pole was our “base” for all games. We spent hours playing Hide and Seek while our parents sat in large groups in front of the houses and talked about whatever grownups talk about. It certainly seemed dull compared to running about, hiding under hedges, vaulting over picket fences and getting impaled on rose bushes.
Eventually parents called for us to quiet down. As a calmer activity we captured fire flies in jars and used their light to signal one another. Then it was time to go into the still hot brick house and up to bed. That’s when another game began.
The smaller bedrooms in those row houses were in the back opposite a similar row of back bedrooms separated only by a long common driveway running the length of the block. Thus, we could each stand at our bedroom window and look out at our counterparts in their bedrooms. Since the adults were still outside in the front of the house, our shouted conversations were unheard by them. Only reluctantly did sleep finally claim us – one by one.
Unlike the evening, during the day play activities were usually separated by gender. The boys hit a ball with a bat or stick (the telephone pole was first base, parked cars the other bases) while the girls bounced a ball in various games such as “Ten A’s” – each bounce was accompanied by a word in a story all of which had to begin with “A” – and so on through the alphabet. The problem we shared with the boys was if a ball went into the street it rolled fairly swiftly into a storm drain/sewer and disappeared with a watery plop.
For the girls this was the end of the matter, but for the boys it was the beginning of a rescue. Lear L. was overly tall for his age and while this was a problem in paying a child’s admission to the Saturday matinee at the movies (he traveled with his birth certificate), it was an asset in sewer ball retrieval. Using a rake he hung upside down into the sewer secured by two of his cohorts holding his heels. If this didn’t work he jumped down into the water and got the ball. The boys cheered him – the girls avoided him. Occasionally the boys fished out a ball lost by the girls – but they kept it – the girls didn’t want to use that wet icky ball.
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Danny F. was the “fat” child of the group and suffered the remarks that children reserve for anyone not conforming to the perceived norm. After much torment he surprised us one day by laughing and agreeing he was fat. This disarmed his tormentors. Obviously, an adult had tutored him in behavior modification.
Another child who received negative attention was a five year old who didn’t speak. His wise mother invited some of us into her home and while we munched on cake and ice cream she carefully explained that not every child learns to speak at the same time. She told us that the child’s uncle, a famous Rabbi in Philadelphia, didn’t speak until he was almost six. Won over completely we vied for the privilege of playing with the little boy.
The only cool place in the neighborhood was the air conditioned movie house. For fifteen cents we spent four hours watching cartoons, serialized westerns and a movie. The dialogue went unheard (and unmissed) – nothing could be heard above the racket of several hundred children exercising their healthy lungs in an adult free environment. The floor (and seats) was littered with the remains of candy corn fights, dripped ice cream, melted chocolate, gooey gummy bears and stamped on peanuts. Some boys whose appetite exceeded the money supplied by their parents crawled under the seats picking up “goodies.” Sanitation was solved by asking G-D to bless it.
After the movie we ran home to re-enact the action we had just witnessed on the silver screen. When Superman was a big hit running was inadequate – we needed to fly. Some houses had a roll down awning over the patio as a shield from the blazing sun; it was a perfect slalom for flying.
Mark G. was the best flyer around needing only an assist from his raincoat. To the bewilderment of his mother, he told her he wanted to wear his raincoat on a cloudless day. He climbed up onto the rolled out awning, stood at its apex (where it met the wall of the house), held out the hem of the raincoat like wings, and yelled “I’m Superman!” as he ran down the incline of the awning and flung himself into empty space. It was several feet down to the ground. How he survived without breaking his neck is one of those childhood miracles. However, since he did survive all the boys took up “flying.” That is, until their combined weight split the awning and everyone tumbled through. The girls were “Lois Lane” so we didn’t have a flight problem.
Many of our games began with “Let’s pretend….” as we pretended we were nurses, teaching school, parenting our dolls, cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers. We chalked up sidewalks for hop scotch, jumped rope (double and triple dutch), played jacks, traded cards, rode tricycles and clamped skates onto our shoes. Our street was a gentle hill and thus perfect for skating. The hard part was stopping before tumbling off the curb at the bottom which made the mail box there particularly useful.
Wearing bathing suits we ran through sprinklers and aimed water hoses at one another. This served the dual purpose of cooling us down while watering the grass and shrubs. It was hard to imagine the same street covered with snow only a couple of months before, the large forts we had built and the balls of ice we pelted at unwary friends.
As I walk in my neighborhood today in San Diego, I often wonder where all the children are. I never see them running about, playing, as we did. Where are they? Are all their activities structured? Is there no time to just run about and say “Let’s pretend……”
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