Rob, United States, 60's Memories Growing Up
Growing up in a suburban setting during the 1960s has provided me with a treasure of memories.
With time, the memories only grow richer. Like others who post their thoughts, it was a time of innocence. I can remember my friend from down the street on a Saturday morning tossing a ball or pebble up at my bedroom window letting me know he was waiting for me outside. It was early enough in the morning that the dew was still on the grass when we took off. We were set for creating another chapter in our childhood by virtually being gone the rest of the day.
Our bike rides often took us to this diner where we would order a plate of French fries. Across the street was where we bought our baseball cards, always reserving one for the spokes on the bike's wheel. And thanks to that stick of bubble gum, the smell that came from those baseball packs was pure heaven.
We had woods behind my house to explore and waiting for turtles on the edge of those woods to make their appearance after a rainstorm.
And what would childhood memories be like without that creepy cemetery. In this thin line of woods not far from my house, there was this forgotten cemetery. All the tombstones had the name Snyder on them and they were from the 1840s and 1850s. Of course when we had our summer campouts, we pitched our tents within feet of this tiny cemetery to prove we were true boys.
As a paperboy, when I finished my route and headed for home, I always walked my bike on this path between the tombstones. On occasion, my bike pedal might hit a tombstone, but I'd always say, "Sorry Mr. Snyder." I discovered that playing a game of baseball by yourself was not hard to do. All I needed was a tennis ball and the cement back steps to create a thrilling nine-inning game.
My parents didn't appreciate the bare spot I created in the grass, but they understood that my love for baseball outweighed the appearance of the backyard.
Catching lightning bugs on a summer's eve, keeping my distance from Daddy Long-leg spiders and watching bats swoop down on tennis balls thrown in the air at dusk are also engrained in my sweet memories of my childhood in the mid to late 1960s.