Young and Restless

Somehow we're all surviving in our own way. Mine is to write. Finding extra time these days.

Quick recap: answering questions to trigger stories = an excuse to excavate

I'm finally answering Question 7 although we are way beyond week 7 of the new year, oh well...

Question 7: Favorite childhood activities?

Easy, to PLAY and have FUN.

My answer goes directly to Barbies and dolls, but I remember it all, puzzles covering the kitchen floor, under the table, above, a surface mosaic of crayons and cards.

My cousin Jenny was usually around, especially on days of Barbie play. My brother built us grandiose homes with record album covers and towels folded into furniture. Our Ken's and Barbie's and Michael Jackson re-enacted scenes from the soap operas that offered background interludes.

Once Shanghai Rummy entered our lives, hours upon hours of card-holding and strategizing filled my little mind.

I loved riding my pink and gray Huffy dirt bike, only bike I remember owning, besides a mini bike that showed up one day, can’t remember if it was ours or the neighbor’s but it sped me through our yard, up the ditch, across the gravel road, down Jason’s ditch, through his trees, and back again to the beginning of the route we wore thin with time and gas.

Some summer days I begged my mom to let me ride my Huffy the seven miles of gravel road to the nearby town where Jenny resided amongst cute boys I wanted to flirt with.

“You can ride your bike there as long as you promise to ride it home, I’m not coming to get you. You promise?”

“I promise, I promise, I can go?”

Hours later, nearing dusk, dialing 2274 on my cousin’s rotary phone: “ Ummmm, can you come get me please?”

“I told you….”

Evenings at home were filled with Family Feud, the Newlywed Game, the Bionic Man, Wonder Woman, Knots Landing, Dallas, Dukes of Hazzard, Who’s the Boss? while daytime rung with He-Man, the Bloodhound Gang, Price is Right, The Young and the Restless, and that I was. Restless to always be doing, always be learning, always be playing, creating, imagining. I always wanted more content.

Roller skating parties in our unfinished basement filled the space between Friday nights at the roller rink where one would find me arm wrestling boys in the arcade while horny punksters floated hand in hand to Is This Love during the Couple skate. No thanks, I'll wait for Love Bites to spin circles with my skinny legs covered in navy parachute pants in the middle of the rink, or guide myself backwards in practiced motion, never as smooth as the regulars from town.

Swimming was a joy I could find at a lake or a pool. It didn’t matter, I just liked to get my newly layered and permed hair wet to watch droplets drip from my unnatural waves ordered by chemicals contradicting my stick-straight.

Walks around town triggered temptations that couldn’t be satisfied by a TV set. Old abandoned milk trucks and sheds offered refuge to preteens with imaginations and nowhere to go but to make a home of it.

One time in the middle of winter, inside a tiny two-roomed abandoned shed, my siblings and I decided to light up an old tabletop grill and feed it cardboard for fuel while playing strip poker with the redheaded neighbor boy who lost, thank goodness, not for him, his uninvited sister came barreling through the door after trudging through shin-high snow to let us know we were in deep trouble, busting her half naked brother running to grab more cardboard in the corner with his pants down to his knees. I was 10, maybe 11. First time I got grounded.

I enjoyed seeing what kind of trouble I could get into, clear enough when Nikki and I stole her mother’s cigarettes and smoked them aside her house, knowing anyone could walk or drive by, which honestly, rarely happened mid-day in a tiny gravel road town with no street signs nor traffic. But bust us Julie did, and I paid with another grounding.

Nikki and I fell to Truth or Dare as our favorite pastime after the rambunctiousness of kickball and Annie I Over wore off. For a quick fix, we called random numbers and asked if their refrigerator was running, or what was the Dixie cup one? Or, is Mike Hunt there? Since caller ID, phone pranks RIP.

One long, rainy afternoon, bored to the brim and sick of old antics, Nikki and I decided to amp up the dares.

"Okay, I dare you to take your clothes off and run out to the mailbox."

"What?! What if someone drives by?"

"No one drives by at this time, and besides, that's why it's a dare dummy."

"How about, if I do it you have to do it too?"

"Why? It's your dare."

"Cuz you know you want to!"

"What-e-ver!"

I liked to PLAY and have FUN.

Still do.

We could all use a little more playtime right now, and I feel it's okay to allow ourselves that. In fact, I think it's necessary, to help raise the vibration for those experiencing the first-hand suffering. Give them more reason.

I'm behind on my 52 Weeks of 52 posts, may catch up or not, but I believe the next question asks to describe my childhood home/s. I'm kind of getting sick of talking about myself already.