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I caught the German measles (or three-day measles, Rubella) and spent a week confined to my bed with a do-not-scratch mandate. Sponge bath to calm the itch, listening to my friends outside, playing. Meals in bed. Soup and sandwiches. Spending hours entertaining myself. I seem to recall other childhood illnesses while living on Allen Street, chicken pox, another do-not-scratch directive. If you scratch them, they will leave scares! “Do you remember so-and-so and the scares on his face?” I did not. Even the mumps made an appearance, right side, then left side? Guess I was at that age, now in school, interacting with neighborhood kids.
Well, Keith caught every childhood contagion. I will admit mostly he handled them well, quiet, able to amuse himself.
I learn when you engage in a rock fight and someone gets hit, trouble was soon to follow. Forced to apologize not knowing if it was the rock I threw. If I hit someone it was pure luck. Sorry.
What was he thinking, throwing rocks with the neighborhood kids? Well, at least I got to meet my neighbors. Apologies extended. Everyone headed home, end of the story. Getting a bit old to pull out the wooden spoon, and who knows how it actually began.
Played with matches/fire. A neighborhood friend and I had this secret hiding place and we, well explored, fire, until. We created a “large fire” that luckily we could extinguish. I think this was the last time we researched fire. Grandpa had a match holder by the back-door, always fill with Wooden Matches, when visiting I would snatch a few and smuggle them home.
I smell smoke, checked inside, then outside. Wonder where Keith is. Certainly he would know better to play with fire and where would he find matches?
Dad was working for the New York State Electric and Gas Company. He seemed gone much of the time. In reality, I really didn’t know his status and beyond teaching me how to “ride” a bike. Which did not end well. I recall few interactions or conversations with him. His job required him to work long hours, especially when storms passed through and families lost their electricity.
I remember some days mom had the car, and we would park near his place of employment waiting. We parked near a metal scrapyard. I would watch a huge magnet move along rails, stopping, lowering, sucking up metals, raising and move to drop the collection into a waiting truck to be carried off, somewhere. Felt like magic, some sort of invisible claw.
When errands needed to be completed, I kept the auto. Like most families, one vehicle was enough, but when required to complete errands, I picked Dick up after-work. We would hang out waiting, playing I spy or Keith would watch a massive electromagnetic magnet in the wrecking-yard moving piles of ferrous recyclables from non-ferrous. It moved along elevated tracks, lowered, engaged, retracted, and moved here and there. Some loaded into waiting truck beds, others into open train cars, while some moved into the building for sorting. I’m sure he thought it was magic.
Finally, men would exit the parking lot. Other employees walked out, lunch box in hand, searching for their rides, their families, heading home for the evening. Keith focused looking for dad and when seen announce his appearance. Dick would hop into the driver’s seat and off we would head homeward. Dick cleaned up while I prepared dinner. Followed by a relaxing evening, shoes off, watching TV or sitting on the front stoop with neighbors. Voices buzzing in the background, children at play.
This was all good.
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