MEMORIES

My Neighborhood Was an Awesome Place to Grow Up

Reminisces of a childhood long gone

The crack of a baseball sending a baseball high overhead. Hockey sticks scraping along a paved road. Sandlot baseball fields. Street hockey nets light enough to be yanked away whenever someone yelled, “car!” Fireworks in July. Chasing the ice cream truck all summer long. Midnight raids on neighbor’s gardens.

Growing up in my neighborhood was no less than fun. When it wasn’t snowing, we generally hung out up the street at the top of the hill from our home. My parents bought a house on a dead end adjacent to a wooded area. We were the only family at the bottom of the hill, so we had the run of all nature had to offer. My brothers and sister picked wild blackberries and raspberries. We walked across the dirt road to a stand of pines, climbing the trees to a carefully made tree fort about 20 feet up.

But the top of the hill, Manchester Street, made it a neighborhood. We would kick off a street hockey game in the middle of the road. Sometimes the game was planned; more often than not, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Back then, there was little traffic to be concerned with. We always kept an eye out for cars. Sure, we’d get a few spurts of high traffic — say three or four cars — but we usually had a good 10 or 15 minutes without interruption.

If we grew tired of street hockey, we’d play whiffle ball or toss a football around.

Halfway down the hill, the Ringer family had a backyard big enough to play baseball. When we needed a larger field, we’d cross the stream behind our house to a sandlot big enough to handle two teams of five, seven, or nine players — however many kids wanted to play.

It was sweaty and hot and so much damned fun. And that was all that mattered to us.

If we needed to cool down, there was a local ice cream stand, its name long forgotten by this writer. We could walk from our house through the woods to the parking lot.

When I had no one to play catch with, I’d walk out to our driveway and bounce a tennis ball off the wall of the plastic shop across the street. If it were just my older brother and me, we’d play hockey in the backyard. He built a goalie net out of two-by-fours and some netting.

In the 70s, wall paneling was in fashion. We had paneled walls and wood floors. It was dark in that house. We “borrowed” a small sheet of paneling so we could shoot a plastic street hockey puck or ball, even a tennis ball, on the smooth surface. Bill and I would take turns shooting or playing goalie.

There was no such thing as the internet, and cable TV was still relatively new. My dad bought a beta-max VCR so we could watch movies or record TV. More often than not, we recorded movies on HBO. Blockbuster was not founded until 1985. Pops was high-tech back in the day.

As teenagers, the games had pretty much come to an end. We still hung out occasionally, but now had different interests. Kids were playing on high school or American Legion teams. I spent most of my time on French Hill, home to many French Canadian families.

The Mylec company, which developed plastic blades and balls, and other equipment for what is now called dek hockey, built a rink in their parking lot and put up lights for night games. We were in our glory.

I spent a lot of time on French Hill. My aunt and uncle, Rita and Armand, lived a few streets away from the rink. I was always welcome to stop for a glass of cold water or a soda.

Armand was my mom’s brother. Rita and Armand had two children, Sandra and Ronnie. Sandy beat cancer several years ago. Ronnie died at 16 in a car crash. Our families were close-knit, and his loss was devastating.

For several years, my dad hosted an extended-family cookout with steamed clams and lobster, hamburgers, and hotdogs. Cousins, aunts, and uncles drove or flew in from Maine, New York, Wisconsin, and Texas. It was a feast for all.

We played kickball and whiffle ball, laughed, and ate. Some adults would get a little tight, but Pop made sure people were sober before leaving.

In 1973, Bill enlisted in the Air Force, hoping to see the world. His first duty station was in England, and he traveled throughout Europe.

I followed after graduating high school in 1976, enlisting in the Marines. Our youngest brother, Mark, joined the Corps four years later.

My sisters were smart enough to attend college. Good for them.

The sandlot where we played baseball and the ice cream stand was sold to developers. Both are now apartment complexes. The dek hockey rink was moved in the early 70s and the Mylec building is now a storage company. Times do change.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for stopping by. Lay 50 claps on me and comment if you would please. I will return the favor. Cheers!

I accept tips, which go directly to Dining for Hunger, a recognized 501(c)(3) organization that looks to end food insecurity. If you can spare a dollar or two, I’d be grateful.

More stories from Bruce Coulter.