The Angels Weekly

As I sit at my patio table and gaze out across my backyard, I hear the constant roar of a nearby highway in one ear, and the ever changing rumbling of the main drag through town in the other.  It isn’t until I stop to contemplate these things though, that they really come alive to me. Thankfully, I have become accustomed to them on the whole.

Soon I forget about the not so distant ‘noise’ and begin to tune into the children’s laughter that drifts through the backyards all across our little neighborhood.

I remember the summers of my youth and how it seems that it was only then that I could truly indulge in my childhood. When the days are long and the temperature outside is warm long into the evening: this is when chores are done, early bed times are put aside, and parents sometimes relax.

Rules become less rigid. We eat outside instead of at the dinner table. Our voices are never  hushed out of doors, and brothers and sisters require each others company for a myriad of games from cartoon tag to kick-the-can.

Often these games consist of an older sibling playing some harmless but seemingly cruel trick on a younger sibling. You know- like during the umpteenth round of hide-and-go-seek one or more of the hiders decides to stay hidden leaving the poor little finder to suddenly realize he’s all alone causing him to bursts into a blubbering blob of inconsolable momma’s boy. Either that or your own giggles give you away just as the little seeker begins to really panic.

I remember lightening bugs when I was a child living in Kentucky and as well when we lived in Iowa. But here on the West Coast they don’t even seem to exist. That’s probably a good thing for the bugs though. My sister and I used to collect as many as we could then peel their sticky little glowing butts right off and wear them as jewelry for the next 20 minutes that they would continue to glow. (Then flick them onto each other and go find more. )

My daughter gets out of the pool and says she’s ready to go inside. But I am not. I do begin however, to realize how dark it’s gotten and that I’ve been writing by the light of the glow coming from the hallway just inside the back door. While I stall she decides to play with the cats and tromps through the not so manicured yard and kicks up some wayward mint. A warm summer breeze wafts through my little corner of the world and I just don’t want this night to end.

Now inside the house, she’s flicking on lights right and left. And with each one a little bit more of my backyard after sunset serenity is poofed away. I no longer hear the sounds of her splashing in the pool, her chirpy happy voice as she talks me through her play and the neighborhood kids as well have worn themselves out and turned in. I now again am very aware of the roaring highway behind me and the rumbling Main St. out front. The shadow of my hand as I write in this old college ruled theme book is making it ever more difficult to see what I’m writing. I suppose I must succumb and wrap it up.  Come to think of it, a tall frosty Root Beer Float sounds just wonderful enough to make me put the pen down and head inside as well.

Laura Leigh

by: Laura Leigh

Tags: childhood, childhood games, childhood memories, memories, remembering childhood, root beer float, writing

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