One vivid day in your "child-life"

[SoCalDem]

another thread triggered a normal day from my childhood..and I could actually "smell the cocoa"..

the day itself is of no importance, since it was a common occurence..

It starts with my being awakened at about 2 AM...dragged downstairs to the kitchen, as my mother makes sandwiches with Kraft sandwich spread & sliced ham.. I get to wrap them in waxed paper, and put the potato chips into waxed paper sandwich bags. she makes the cocoa in a small pan I still use to this day..but not for cocoa..

It goes into the tall thermos with the cork stopper and cup on top..we get out the blanket and then I and my brother get dressed in three layers of clothing..bathing suit, shorts & tee shirt, and finally jeans & a lightweight flannel shirt..

We get the bamboo fishing poles secured to the top of the car, and head for the favorite pier to go fishing.

The lights & basket & all the hooks & stuff are clanking around in the trunk as we set of for the drive.. My brother and I sleep all the way there, and then we join all the other "kids of the fishers".. the younger ones are tethered with interlocked belts, to the bolted down chairs of some of the parents..others are cooped up in rickety wooden playpens..

The older kids head for the "float".. It;s a 12 x 12 raft that's tied to the pilings of the pier.. We scamper down the rope ladder to get to work..

Dads fish for bait and toss them down to us, so we can put them in the wire baskets that are hooked to the raft.. unknown to the dads, we often let the "pretty ones" go.. Pity the dad who only caught "pretty ones"..

We spend the next several hours straddling the big fish and scale & gut them (they are dead when the dads lowered them down to us in big wire baskets)..

Every so often someone gets into the water to "wash off"...this continued for months until a dad saw us doing it, and then forbade us to do that, since sharks & barracudas swam in to "clean up" the stuff we dumped into the water..

From that night on, we had to wait until they were done fishing, and then shower off at the public showers at the end of the pier.. Apparently this "tradition" had gone on long enough, that someone had actually thought to put a shower in..

When it was near lunchtime, everyone had pretty much cleared out, or broke into groups to head for the beach to cook what they had caught.. (the sandwiches were usually breakfast..and after all that fish-wrangling, we were ready for lunch.. we'd swim for a few hours, and then head home.. sleeping all the way home ..

What was a normal day in your childhood, that still remains vivid?

[puerco-bellies]

1. We would go for a drive in the country to Riverside for grinders.

I used to live in Hacienda Heights when it still was rural. We would pile in the car and drive over Hacienda Road, turn east through Carbon Canyon, then winding around the always scary sounding Sleepy Hollow. After surviving another trip through "Headless Horseman" country we would hold our noses as we crossed the dairies of Chino, and after what seemed like hours we would enter the small town of Riverside CA, and pull in to my dad and mom's favorite grinder stand.

Everyone ordered their favorite grinder sandwich plus an extra one for lunch the next day. We would then head for a park with a lake near downtown to have a picnic. Now I realize this was the only family outing my parents probably could afford, but the memories are still some of my favorites.

[SoCalDem]

6. I don't know where you live now, but Chino-stink is gone now

It's all houses now, as the dairies were encroached upon, and left.. Even in the 80's, after we moved to CA, my own kids used to hold their noses when we went through Chino.."Faster faster faster, they would yell at us"..Unfortunately, anyone who has ever driven the 60, knows how impossible that was :)

and that park you used to go to is still there, and still pretty..but mostly used by homeless people these days, I fear :)

[MorningGlow]

14. OMG just the thought of Riverside as a small town in the country...!

My brother has lived in Riverside for around 25 years, and it's always been pretty big and sprawling to me. Of course, even more so nowadays. A small town...wow. I think I would have liked to have seen that.

[Breeze54]

2. There were no 'normal' days, I don't think. It was always chaos with 7 kids...

but, I remember... so many memories to choose from... but I remember packing up the red and white station wagon on a hot August morning. We hadn't had a car for very long and this was a very exciting trip!! We were going away to a beach house on the ocean for two weeks!! It was really early in the morning and so early that we didn't get any breakfast as usual and were told when we "get to the bridge"... we'll eat.

My Dad had 'borrowed' these army green metal boxes and had packed them with ice that held our food, the perishables, and then tied off all the boxes and suitcases on the top of the car with parachute line, green of course, and then we all fought over who got to sit where and of course, my little brother and I were put in the back of the wagon. Cars didn't have seats in the back of the station wagons back then and no seat belts. The fumes from the exhaust made me sick and to make it better, my Dad would put the rear window down just enough so we didn't fall out but just enough to make it worse. But at any rate, after about three hours or more of driving, there... ahead... we'd see 'The Bridge"!! It was huge and still is and then we all got very excited because we knew it wouldn't be long before we got to 'the beach house'!

It wasn't a 'house' like some of you might imagine. It was a 'real' beach house. Never used after Labor Day, as it didn't have any insulation... or walls, for that matter. The upstairs was one big room full of beds, double beds and single beds and clothesline hanging from the walls with bed spreads hanging between the 'girls' and the 'boys' sides. That was the privacy. Period and a mischief maker to boot! ;) And the walls had just the wood that made it a house. Beams and silver conduit exposed throughout and a sink that was made of slate in the kitchen and we had to light the oven and all the burners with wooden matches every time we wanted to cook and the toaster had two sides that flipped out! You flipped out one side to toast and then opened it up and turned the bread over to toast the other side!

But the best part of it all were the smells from the ocean and the sea breeze and hearing the waves crashing on the beach and the walk down the path, past the beach grass that was as tall as me at the time and it waved in the breeze and at night? It looked like a Christmas tree to me out on the harbor. All dark out on the water except for all the lights that curved up a;long the coast and met the stars.... I can still smell the coffee peculating in that old, tin, glass bubble top, coffee pot and feel the dampness of the August nights on my skin laying on those starched, ironed, sheets; as the sun came up and shined on my face on those early mornings in late August... when I was young.

I miss that old house ...

:toast:

[enigmatic]

3. I was a latchkey kid for most of my childhood

My mother worked as a waitress at night and didn't get home until 2am most nights, so I was alone 5 days a week in the evenings. I remember riding my bike down to the local Burger King to eat there on Friday nights w/ a new copy of Sporting News I bought at the bookstand next door; sneaked a few peaks at the latest Playboy and Penthouse when the guy behind the counter wasn't looking, too.

In the summertime I was a batboy for a local Semi-Pro softball team (this was the mid 1970's, when Softball was at it's peak in the Rustbelt)and they played a few blocks from where I lived; I still remember riding my bike home after their games in my team jersey listening to Herb Score call the Cleveland Indians games on my little transistor radio I taped to the handlebars of my 3 speed.

I always waited for my Mother to come home and on some nights she'd bring home some food from the restuaurant that was left-over; fine dining stuff like crab or pepper steak that was a treat to a 12 year old kid. I still remember those times vividly.

[SeattleGirl]

4. My most vivid childhood memories are ones I'd rather forget.

That is all.

[marzipanni]

10. :-(

:hug:

[SeattleGirl]

16. Aw, thanks.

:hug:

[Indi Guy]

18. Understood...

I often have to consciously block out all my vividly horrific childhood experiences in order to subjectively recall, "good times."

Gratefully, time has healed "some" wounds; and I can now look back and see parts of my childhood through a lens other than that of abuse/neglect/humiliation.

My parents were products of these dynamics; so as an adult -- I genuinely forgive them (there's really nothing to forgive; they did the best they knew how).

This doesn't change the fact that I was a sensitive kid who was regularly beaten, humiliated and guilt-tripped by the very people who were supposed to protected me.

...No victim here though. I was shown how to do things exactly wrong. Now I know how to treat people.

[AwakeAtLast]

5. Not a normal day, but a great childhood memory - making chowder at Grandpa's house

The chowder I'm thinking of is not like any that anyone else makes. There is a small pocket of southeastern IL that makes their version of 'chowder' as a commuity, but families do it, too. Basically you throw into a large cast iron kettle (over an open wood burning fire) any meat that is caught or butchered (beef, pork, squirrel, rabbit, deer, you name it) with as many vegetables as you have in your garden and of course water to cover. I'm talking corn, lima beans, green beans, onions, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, peas, sometimes okra - the list goes on and on. Season with lots of salt and pepper add some butter later on and keep stirring! We all waited patiently for our turn to stir.

This would start at about 5 a.m. to serve at about 1 p.m. While it was being made we would all stand around, adults drinking coffee, and visit or feed the fish in Grandpa's pond or help Grandma prepare the next ingredient.

My family hasn't made any for awhile. Grandpa and Grandma are gone and I even think the cast iron kettle was sold, which is sad.

I can still smell the chowder cooking and the coffee brewing.

[marzipanni]

11. Your story reminds me of Stone Soup...

and if our neighborhood would get together and cook up a soup, or chowder as you call it, at the big barbecue at the park down the street, I think it would be fun...and tasty! (The more we get together, the happier we'll be ;))
http://www.soupsong.com/rstone.html

[AwakeAtLast]

12. Yeah, it does!

The community chowders are awesome - there's nothing like ten huge iron kettles simmering on the town square! :9

[skygazer]

7. Summer days, up at 5 or 6 am

I'd feed the horses, make a couple of pieces of toast and take them outside, where I'd eat in a lawn chair with a book in my lap. The grass would be wet from the dew and the air would smell so fresh.

Around 7 or 8, I'd saddle up my horse and go meet my friend Debi. We'd ride all day, both of us would bring a lunch stuffed in a saddle bag and we'd wander trails and dirt roads all over southern Vermont (this would be when I was about 12 on up).

Sometimes, we'd stop at the apple orchard out on Ames Hill Road where we knew the owners and had permission to pick as many apples as we wanted while we rode through. We'd drop the reins and the horses would graze, and eat deadfalls, while we reclined on their backs, munching apples and talking. There was a pond in the orchard and on really hot days, we'd strip the saddles off the horses, pull off our jeans and ride right in to cool off.

Wherever we rode, we'd be looking for things to jump - a fallen log, a stone wall, a low fence. We had permission from all kinds of people to ride on their land, so we could travel for miles and miles, never touching a paved road except to cross it. We'd stop and water the horses at streams and the old troughs that still stand under spring runoffs on little dirt roads in the middle of nowhere.

I'd get home just before dark, my horse would be cooled off because I'd loosen his saddle and hand-walk him the last mile or so home. I'd clean him up, get him fed and go in for dinner. My family never worried about me - I had perfect freedom.

Those were good days.

[SoCalDem]

8. and I'm betting that neither you , or your Mother ever worried about your day-long

escapade..or feared for your safety..

It's sad that today's kids have been robbed of their freedom to roam and explore..:(

[skygazer]

9. I remember one day I had a friend from school over

And we took a walk out in the woods behind my house. I grew up with a mountain behind my house and I roamed it like it was my back yard - which it was.

This girl was from town and her mom came to pick her up and absolutely FREAKED when my mom said, "Oh, I don't know where they are - out in the woods someplace."

It wasn't a big deal - all my mom had to do was open the back door and holler and I could hear her way up on the mountaintop. We came down to find a very nervous mother who packed her little girl off without a backward look and never allowed her to return.

Yeah, I feel so fortunate about my childhood.

[Beausoir]

13. Ahhh. That takes me back.

I had a horse when I was younger.

Those summer days spent riding were the best.

My horse loved to swim so sometimes we would go swimming together. Then I'd brush her till she was glossy and let the warm sun dry her.

Good times.

[JohnnyLib2]

15. Lighting the cotton from cottonwood trees, all over the yard.

We had to bootleg matches and wait till our mothers' nap.

[Droopy]

17. When I was very young

I guess I was about 5, my parents, sister, and I lived with my dad's parents. Grandpa and grandma were born and raised in Tennessee and moved up to Ohio shortly after my dad was born in search of good paying work and a better life for their children.

They retained all of their southern ways and rituals despite being in yankee territory. They had a house sitting on 3 acres in a little town populated by a lot of southern people. Some areas of Ohio are like that, especially in southwestern Ohio where we are from. There will be entire towns and sections of larger cities where it seems like everyone is a transplant from the south. But it's not everyone. Many of us are just descended from southerners, like myself and my folks. I talk with a slight southern accent despite growing up here in Ohio. I got it from spending a lot of time with my grandparents when I was young.

Anyway, like I was saying, my grandparents were still very much southerners despite living in the north. They did not abandon the way they were taught to live. A part of that meant keeping a large garden on their property. Grandpa would work the field and grandma would take care of all of the canning of the produce. They grew enough food to last them a year and about the only thing they needed to buy from the store was meat. They did buy other things, of course. But if they would have needed to survive through their own means, they could have easily done it.

I guess that's a lot of back story, but I remember my grandparents with fondness and I like to share stories about them. They are both gone now.

But, yeah, I guess I was about 5 and I really liked hanging out with my grandpa. I went everywhere he went and tried to do everything that he did. When he would plow up the field, I noticed that he would turn up rocks and throw them by the way. So I started following him. When he would turn up a rock with the roto-tiller, I'd grab it for him and throw it by the way. I think maybe the development of my work ethic might have started then, but I just enjoyed helping out my grandpa and spending time with him.

I loved both of my grandparents on my dad's side. When I got older that wasn't always apparent and I was suffering from a mental illness that wouldn't be successfully treated until they were already gone. As a grown man I never got to show them how much I cared for them. I'm going to go cry now.

[elleng]

19. Droopy,

thank you for a lovely story.

(((Droopy)))

[Droopy]

20. You're welcome

And thanks for the hug. There's something about the wee hours of the morning here at the house that makes me emotional. I work 3rd shift and I don't get like that at work. I guess I don't have time to think about things then.

[trof]

21. Fruitcake time.

Granny had three sisters.
Each year around Thanksgiving they'd gather at her house in Birmingham, Alabama on a Saturday to make fruitcakes.
I remember the tubs of candied fruit.
I think some was homemade and some was 'store boughten'.
And the candied ginger and the pecans.
The whole house smelled so good.

They'd mix up huge batches, using their hands (carefully washed beforehand), in big earthenware bowls.
I still call those 'granny bowls'.

Granny's gas stove looked something like this

and it was on for most of the day.

They used bundt or angel food type pans with the hole in the middle, and loaf pans.

And they'd bake up a big batch of fruit cake drop cookies on cookie sheets so we could have some right away and not have to wait for Christmas.

Granny was a tea-totaler and would allow NO booze in her cakes.
Aunt Grace was the sophisticate of the bunch and not only added brandy (maybe bourbon?) to her cakes, but periodically drizzled it on her finished cakes until just before Christmas.

Once we drove out to Aunt Grace's on Christmas afternoon to exchange gifts. She served us coffee and fruit cake. Milk for me.
On the way home granny said to grandpa "My goodness, did you taste the whiskey in that cake? I got right light-headed."
Grandpa just chuckled.
He wasn't a tea-totaler.
Kept his 'red medicine' in a cabinet on the back porch.
;-)