Sprinklers, Big Wheels & Puppy Love

It was a time for youthful activities, which included some mischief. Mr. Smith woke up a bit early on that Sunday morning back in 1974. He poured a cup of coffee and walked out to grab the paper off the front step. He knew mornings were the best time to water the lawn, so he walked around the side of the house to turn on the water for his sprinkler, which he had just purchased the week before. It was top of the line and he was proud of his acquisition.

He looked up to view the spray that should be watering his well-kept lawn. There was nothing. Must be a kink, he thought, and walked out to the yard to check on it. As he approached, he noticed there was an empty hose-end gushing water. Baffled, he looked around.

Suddenly, he noticed his top of the line sprinkler attached to the end of Mr. Jones’ hose next door.

“What the hell?!” he said out loud, throwing his coffee mug to the ground. He rolled up the Sunday Tribune, and stormed over to confront Mr. Jones for the audacity of using his sprinkler. Especially without a “Do you mind…” There would be heck to pay on this day.

Unknown to Mr. Smith, that same scenario was being played out by many of those living along Elm Street that Sunday morning in 1974.

Fast Forward…

I was talking with a friend over supper recently and conversation turned to the nostalgia of our youthful activities. They were a time for adventure, exploration, and personal discovery. We had no cell phones, video games, or social media. All we had was the vastness of the great outdoors, perhaps a bag lunch from mom, and the industry of our own little minds to do with as we pleased. Mostly.

It confounds me to this day how we managed to pull together 20 kids in less than an hour to come out and play. It didn’t matter the activity. One day it was a baseball game, another day a game of hide-and-seek covering three square miles, or heading to Art’s store for some candy.

It was accomplished (mostly) by riding your bike around the neighborhood. All you had to do was ride past yards and yell out the activity. Everyone knew where to go. It was almost instinctual. BAM! You had 20 or more kids all in one place ready for anything.

As I visited the old neighborhood after a long absence, I noticed the lack of youthful activities most everywhere; No tree forts or wooden rafts on the ponds, no packs of kids laying in the grass, no bikes lined up at the now unkempt parks and playgrounds. It was like everyone under the age of 15 had vanished.

Old-Fashioned Youthful Side Hustle

I will skip the drama of figuring out what has happened to them. I would prefer to remember fondly the countless hours I spent at the snake pit. It was a 15-foot round hole about four feet deep at at the edge of a field near my house. It was deep deep enough that snakes would slither down, but couldn’t get out. All those present would put one foot into a circle. Someone, usually Scotty, would do the “bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish” game. The last two people left in the circle were the losers and had to jump in and grab as many snakes as possible.

I lost many times and would arrive home with about eight snakes dangling from outstretched hands. My forearms and ankles would be streaked red from numerous pin-prick wounds – Garter snakes do bite, but not so bad as anyone we knew died from it.

At this point, a couple dads in the neighborhood would volunteer to drive us to the local reptile farm so we could collect our dollar or two. It wasn’t the fact that driving us to the reptile farm would elevate them up the “Cool Dad” ladder. It was the fact that the reptile farm was located at the top of the hill, behind the liquor store.

Evolving Courtship Rituals

As we aged beyond the intrigue of spiders and snakes, thoughts turned to the opposite sex. It started in 5^th grade, when I firmly established a crush on Michelle. Five or six of our gang would bike down to her house. Then we would hide behind the fence at the edge of her yard.

Michelle would eventually leave out the front door. Whichever of us had the most guts would jump up and yell something clever, like “Croix likes you!” Michelle would then see five or six guys jump up from behind her fence and run away as fast as possible. Puppy love just isn’t that athletic these days.

We played, we bonded, we were unafraid. Rather than pushing buttons on a keypad we pushed the limits of our imagination with youthful activities. There was little room in our vocabulary for “I’m bored” or “My battery’s dead”.

What would a young life be without a little mischief? By the time I hit 13, I had outgrown the fence courtship ritual. To get a girl’s attention, I would gather up all the Big Wheels in a particular neighborhood on a particular night. They would then mysteriously show up in one particular driveway the next morning. This time her name was Crystal. I never heard how long it took her dad to sort out the Big Wheels, but less than a week later, she held my hand at Pioneer Park.

Please note that while Big Wheels have long been considered gateway mischief, there is no scientific evidence that proves it will lead to sprinkler switching (mostly).