Life before the street lights came on.

 I started first grade a month before I turned 5.  I remember my teacher was Miss Donough when we started and she was Mrs. Breece when school was out for the summer.  We lived on the Stroh place when we started, but moved into the only home my father ever bought before school was out for the summer.  I have few memories of the Stroh place, but those I have are vivid.  Dorothy was born there.  Mother went to club every month there.  There was a big mudhole by the house that we were not supposed to play in there.  Donna poked a turtle with her finger and it latched on and John Britan had to cut its head off to make it let go.  Jake was kicked in the face by our Shetland pony.  He carried the scar until the day he died. Our old cow caught some disease and died, leaving us with no milk for the baby.  But in the spring, we moved to our own house on the other side of town out by the cemetery.  Dad bought another cow.  That was Strong Street.  709 North Strong Street to be exact.

I do not remember where the street light was located, but it seems to me it was right past the Reinke house and before the Smith house.  Probably right in front of the Goodrick house.  I do know we went out every night after supper to play in the "hood".  We had to be careful not to speak to any strangers because they would kidnap us and kill us or sell us to the Gypsy's which was a fate far worse then death!

Strong Street was a destination, not something you came across by accident, so we were fairly safe there.  Hank Windiate, the old crippled man with the horse and wagon lived on the end of the street, right across from Jerry and Ora Ayres.  First was our house, then the Reinke house, then Jake Smith and then Hank Windiate. The Ayres house, which was seperated by a vacant lot from the Goodrick house was the last house on that side of the street.

  

Our house, the Reinke house and the Ayres house were the only houses that had kids.  The Reinke girls, whose mother had died after giving birth to her last child, were not allowed out after dark.  Neither were the Ayres kids who were older, so it was basically just us.  So every night it was a rousing game of "Kick the Can!"  Now, for those of you who do not know how to play this, I will explain the rules.

First, you must have a can.  Now back in the 40's, a tin can was a coveted item.  First it meant your parents had enough money to buy a can of vegetables, or your brother had gone to the dump and foraged around and found a nice solid tin can!  Jake was good at that!  The can was placed upside down over a place that was designated as "home" and was usually located by the old Catalpa tree.  Whoever was "It" closed their eyes and counted to 100 while all the kids ran and hid.  Then "It" would go and find the hiding kids.  That kid would be brought back to the can and placed in "jail."  The only way to get out of jail was for one of the "hiders" to wait for the "jailer" to wander off and look for another hider to tag and "arrest".  When the jailer left someone could run in and "kick the can", thereby freeing all the kids held in the jail.  Some times one of the kids from "town" would come by and play.  That always made it more fun.

We were allowed to play for 30 minutes after the street light came on.  We knew when 30 minutes was past because mother would holler for us to "get in here and get ready for bed."  Now "getting ready for bed" was another ritual.  That simply meant washing our feet in the wash bowl in the kitchen and drying them on the ragged old towel that hung from the back of the chair.  Now that may not sound like much to you, but to this day, I can not go to bed with dirty feet.  Of course, now that I have shoes AND socks, dirty feet are a rarity around here, but some memories never die.  

Sometimes I find myself looking at an empty can and thinking how Jake would immediately think about using it for our next game of "Kick the Can."  I wonder if my sister, Donna Bartholomew remembers those nights on Strong Street?

The years have dimmed my eyes and slowed my feet, but my mind continues to relive some of the best times of my life back when the hardest thing I had to do was "Kick the Can" and save my sisters and brother.  I wonder if that helped make me into the woman I am today, that marched in the Gay Rights Parade and held the hands of the hospice clients as they crossed to the other side?  I like to think so.  

I do know Mothers Day is just around the corner and I would give my right arm to just be able to see my mother one more time and look into her gray eyes and tell her I love her.  I think she always knew, but I never said it often enough.

I host a high tea at my church the Saturday before Mother's Day.  Tickets are $25 if you are interested.  This year I am going to have a table for "Mothers pictures."  If you are interested in attending contact me here on facebook or call my church at 719-544-1892 and leave a message with Jill.   My number is 719-546-1555 here at home.