Birthdays are times for reflection. I just “celebrated” my 59th. I received well-wishes from Facebook friends I haven’t seen in years, so it got me thinking about my childhood…and the playground at First Ward School.
I was fortunate to live three houses from the school grounds, the most versatile sports venue in the nation. I was also fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood full of characters I will never forget. Without air conditioning, our lives were spent entirely outside. We came in only for lunch and dinner, and in the evening when the streetlights came on.
The asphalt basketball court also served as the wiffle ball “field”. The distance to the tall chain-link fence was not nearly as daunting as the three 50-foot maple trees just inside that fence line. Catching a small plastic ball as it careens from limb to limb develops great hand-eye coordination.
In autumn, the playground became a touch football venue. The out-of-bounds markers changed depending on the number of participants. The sliding board, and various other playground apparatuses, were in-bounds. Avoiding the flagpole in your pass pattern was a must.
The side yard was great for tackle football as long as the offense always went uphill, and local rules required that no one be tackled near the sharp-edged “No Trespassing” signs in the grass. A wall jutting from the side of the school served as a one-on-one baseball complex. We bounced a rubber ball off the wall, daring our opponent to catch it. We developed rules as to what was deemed an out, a double, and a home run. Many a game ended prematurely when the ball rolled into the storm sewer on Guernsey Street.
Usually, one kid in the neighborhood had a football, and another a basketball. There was no need for two balls of the same sport. Everyone in the neighborhood was free to borrow the balls. Parents understood the rule and gave them up even if their sons weren’t home. I don’t ever remember someone losing or taking a ball belonging to someone else. The consequences of not having one were too severe—such an offense was akin to horse thievery.
We made all the rules for each sport ourselves, modified them when necessary, and resolved every conflict without resulting to violence—usually, but not always.
For years, we competed, we fought, we shared stories, and we formed bonds. We’ve all gone our separate ways now, and even though we left the playground, it never left us.