Discussion - Member to Member Sales - Research Center
Discussion - Member to Member Sales - Research Center
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Riding a bike on a dirt road, scared of the dark so peddling home was a lot faster than earlier in the day,lol swimming in the lake on a hot day, picking blueberries in the pasture while watching out for the cows who were curious,going to a one room school until highschool, trading stamps with a cousin,...just a few things about growing up in a Canadian rural area...o yes a visit to the salt water beach once in the summer was a highlight...with a picnic lunch ....memories of a Nova Scotia gal
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Going for long hikes on bright summer days, guddling for trout in clear slow moving burns, watching a family of weasels playing in the woods, building dens in the same woods and trying to find the "enemies" den and capture it.
Picking wild strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and looking for gooseberries in the hedgerows. Checking on the birds nests to see if there were eggs and watching the parents feed their chicks as they grew, never telling anybody where the nests were.
Watching the swallows skim inches above the barley catching flies, seeing and hearing the big cock pheasant astride his hillock calling out and hearing the echo reverbating throughout the valley.
Seeing the weasel dragging a young rabbit through the grass to its nest. The dog fox lying in a glade in the woods sunning himself. The trout rising up to catch a fly and sometimes leaping out the water.
Playing cricket with your pals in the summer, being carried home after being knocked out by a cricket ball. Getting a leathering from your father for taking his fishing rod and reel without permission and getting the line in the reel all tangled. Getting hit between the eyes with a stone from a catty (Hand held catapult)(Bloomin' sore!)
Aye! Life in Scotland as a kid.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXc5Oe_kj8k
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Childhood Story #385…
My grandfather was an oil company executive who helped reestablish business relationship in Japan after WWII. They only came back to the states at Christmas time and would always shower the grandkids with gifts to ‘make up’ for their absence. Needless to say, waiting for them to arrive was only rivalled by the wait for Christmas morning.
When I was about 5 years old, I had my nose stuck to the front window waiting for my grandparents to arrive from the train station. The taxi pulled up and I burst out the front door, ran down the front walk, and yelled with real childhood excitement “Grandma and grandpa, come in and see the God Damned Christmas tree!!!!” I, of course, had heard it called that all morning long as my father struggled to get the tree up and had no idea that it was inappropriate, I thought that was what it was called. Needless to say, my grandparents were not happy to hear my bad language but not as unhappy as I was later with the bar of soap in my mouth.
Christmas morning that year was a typical affair, lots of eggnog and more presents than was really needed. The ‘aftermath’ of the present opening was a sea of wrapping paper which my father was starting to burn in the fireplace. My grandmother had retired to the upstairs bathroom with warnings about the kids getting too close to the roaring fireplace. I sat playing with my new toy pirate cannon. It came with a ramrod and plastic cannon balls that shot clear across the room. The trigger mechanism was based upon any vibration including a loud voice command.
Being only 5, I did not have the deep voice needed to get the cannon to fire and after several failed ‘fire’ commands I sought help from my grandfather. It took him 2-3 times but the cannon finally shot the cannon ball. Suddenly my grandmother come flying down the stairs, her pants still around her ankles, yelling, ‘Quick!!! Get the kids and get out of the house!’. A memory that stuck in all of our heads for many years to come.
Don
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Parents lived in South New Jersey during my childhood. Wide open fields but a developing area and neighborhood was being built. I remember my grandfather showing off his stamp collection to me as a kid on the back porch on a homemade picnic bench and table of old 2x4's. They were building the electrical grid at the time and dug huge footers for the power towers and cables. Apparently, I fell into one on the 30 foot deep footers and got stuck. My mother ran to the first "car" she saw and asked for help. It was a painted flower hippie van with a ladder tied to the roof. My mother told the hippies saved my son story about a thousand times. 
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How old are we, that we begin to share long-held childhood memories like this? 
Growing up at the edge of a small Indiana town, between the school house (grades 1 to 12) and the athletic field. Our bicycles took us everywhere. Even to the friend's farm with the round barn three miles outside of town on the US highway. It wasn't a busy highway! We played dodge ball in the hay mow of that barn, and basketball down below. When I spent the night, we got up early to help milk the cows and then did it again before dinner.
Little league baseball starting in second grade, I think. The older guys, several of whom were on the high school baseball team, were playing pick up baseball games next door to our house many weekends in the summer and fall. I think I was 12 when they first let me join them. I will never forget that day. Those games with those guys over the next few years will never be forgotten.
Nor will I forget the evenings after dark when we played kick the can in a friend's neighborhood. One of our daytime activities was the building of a three-story tree house high up in a large maple tree in that friend's back yard—and we lived to reminisce about it.
Both sets of grandparents lived within about three miles and several cousins were within ten miles. Everyone had vegetable gardens. Lots of family gatherings for birthdays, etc. at their homes and ours. Always homemade ice cream in the summertime—vanilla and choclolate on Dad's side of the family and vanilla and lemon on Mom's side. Spent many hours playing in the woods (while avoiding the hogs) and along the stream on Granddad K's small farm.
I was already mowing a few neighbors' yards when the school custodian asked Dad if I'd be interested in mowing the school yard and athletic field. Dad said "sure" and then informed me I had a new job. I had access to the custodian's riding mower that we kept at our house and I had that job for a few years. Later, when I turned 16, I also started working summertime construction with Dad at the small contractor he had worked for since '46. Mostly new home construction and remodeling. At one point, I was the youngest of four members (three generations) of the family working there, and was following in the footsteps of an uncle who, many years earlier, worked summers as I was doing. It wasn't always fun, but it certainly was educational.
I didn't appreciate the big family reunions back then. With the passing of the older generations and cousins scattering, we don't see relatives as much any more. Fewer opportunities to reminisce.
Tom
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I grew up in the 60's and 70's - graduated college in 1979.
I really don't remember a lot before 1980.
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A lot of are lucky Lars,many of my High School chums were dead by their 40's,the most socializing i ever did was in my 30's when everyone in the neighborhood had kids but no money so a backyard picnic with a half keg was a great equalizer. I am still in the same neighborhood..but no one seems to need anyone nowadays..the street (in the early 70's) was full of noisy kids...it was great...now the teenagers on the street do not mix..they have their electronic device friends.
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Well, Philb, it is a small world indeed - I too am from Floral Park, though I lived there much longer than you did. What street did you live on, do you remember?
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Hello Speaker, i sure do i lived there 6 years...109 West Elder Ave. The last street before the Belmont racetrack..it was our playground winter and summer..it could have been dangerous but kids are tough.
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OK, I lived on the other side of town near the playground/ballfields/pool, so I played there a lot. I was at the pool almost every day in the summer.
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I am familiar with the tunnel, but didn't use it much since it wasn't near where I lived. Have you been down that way in recent years? It looks quite prosperous, being as it's a NYC bedroom community. The houses are modest in size, but many have been upgraded with fancy doors, windows, walkways, landscaping, and there are many BMWs. Contrasts with my friend who goes back to Ohio for a visit, and sees nothing but closed factories and shuttered storefronts.
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i lived in Bedford Stuyvesant Brooklyn until i was four..there was a high school next door and my parents were shocked at the language i brought home from the local hoodlums and moved to Floral Park, Long Island. So now i was a Long Island kid and i knew my border of Queens,Nassau as only a kid could know it..the sidewalks took us everywhere. Then when i was 10 for some reason my parents moved to Columbia County N.Y. population 20 some thousand ! I did not know where the hell i was...i took the school bus 8 miles to school and then total isolation. I guess it was a shock. Things got better(a lot better) when i turned 13 or so. But now i consider myself so lucky to live in the Hudson Valley with the mountains and the river. I guess Long Island was the Huckleberry Finn years,i know there are other guys here that can relate to those youthful years of freedom.
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08:22:04pm
re: Thinking back on just being a kid
Riding a bike on a dirt road, scared of the dark so peddling home was a lot faster than earlier in the day,lol swimming in the lake on a hot day, picking blueberries in the pasture while watching out for the cows who were curious,going to a one room school until highschool, trading stamps with a cousin,...just a few things about growing up in a Canadian rural area...o yes a visit to the salt water beach once in the summer was a highlight...with a picnic lunch ....memories of a Nova Scotia gal
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
Going for long hikes on bright summer days, guddling for trout in clear slow moving burns, watching a family of weasels playing in the woods, building dens in the same woods and trying to find the "enemies" den and capture it.
Picking wild strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and looking for gooseberries in the hedgerows. Checking on the birds nests to see if there were eggs and watching the parents feed their chicks as they grew, never telling anybody where the nests were.
Watching the swallows skim inches above the barley catching flies, seeing and hearing the big cock pheasant astride his hillock calling out and hearing the echo reverbating throughout the valley.
Seeing the weasel dragging a young rabbit through the grass to its nest. The dog fox lying in a glade in the woods sunning himself. The trout rising up to catch a fly and sometimes leaping out the water.
Playing cricket with your pals in the summer, being carried home after being knocked out by a cricket ball. Getting a leathering from your father for taking his fishing rod and reel without permission and getting the line in the reel all tangled. Getting hit between the eyes with a stone from a catty (Hand held catapult)(Bloomin' sore!)
Aye! Life in Scotland as a kid.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXc5Oe_kj8k
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
Childhood Story #385…
My grandfather was an oil company executive who helped reestablish business relationship in Japan after WWII. They only came back to the states at Christmas time and would always shower the grandkids with gifts to ‘make up’ for their absence. Needless to say, waiting for them to arrive was only rivalled by the wait for Christmas morning.
When I was about 5 years old, I had my nose stuck to the front window waiting for my grandparents to arrive from the train station. The taxi pulled up and I burst out the front door, ran down the front walk, and yelled with real childhood excitement “Grandma and grandpa, come in and see the God Damned Christmas tree!!!!” I, of course, had heard it called that all morning long as my father struggled to get the tree up and had no idea that it was inappropriate, I thought that was what it was called. Needless to say, my grandparents were not happy to hear my bad language but not as unhappy as I was later with the bar of soap in my mouth.
Christmas morning that year was a typical affair, lots of eggnog and more presents than was really needed. The ‘aftermath’ of the present opening was a sea of wrapping paper which my father was starting to burn in the fireplace. My grandmother had retired to the upstairs bathroom with warnings about the kids getting too close to the roaring fireplace. I sat playing with my new toy pirate cannon. It came with a ramrod and plastic cannon balls that shot clear across the room. The trigger mechanism was based upon any vibration including a loud voice command.
Being only 5, I did not have the deep voice needed to get the cannon to fire and after several failed ‘fire’ commands I sought help from my grandfather. It took him 2-3 times but the cannon finally shot the cannon ball. Suddenly my grandmother come flying down the stairs, her pants still around her ankles, yelling, ‘Quick!!! Get the kids and get out of the house!’. A memory that stuck in all of our heads for many years to come.
Don
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
Parents lived in South New Jersey during my childhood. Wide open fields but a developing area and neighborhood was being built. I remember my grandfather showing off his stamp collection to me as a kid on the back porch on a homemade picnic bench and table of old 2x4's. They were building the electrical grid at the time and dug huge footers for the power towers and cables. Apparently, I fell into one on the 30 foot deep footers and got stuck. My mother ran to the first "car" she saw and asked for help. It was a painted flower hippie van with a ladder tied to the roof. My mother told the hippies saved my son story about a thousand times.
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
How old are we, that we begin to share long-held childhood memories like this?
Growing up at the edge of a small Indiana town, between the school house (grades 1 to 12) and the athletic field. Our bicycles took us everywhere. Even to the friend's farm with the round barn three miles outside of town on the US highway. It wasn't a busy highway! We played dodge ball in the hay mow of that barn, and basketball down below. When I spent the night, we got up early to help milk the cows and then did it again before dinner.
Little league baseball starting in second grade, I think. The older guys, several of whom were on the high school baseball team, were playing pick up baseball games next door to our house many weekends in the summer and fall. I think I was 12 when they first let me join them. I will never forget that day. Those games with those guys over the next few years will never be forgotten.
Nor will I forget the evenings after dark when we played kick the can in a friend's neighborhood. One of our daytime activities was the building of a three-story tree house high up in a large maple tree in that friend's back yard—and we lived to reminisce about it.
Both sets of grandparents lived within about three miles and several cousins were within ten miles. Everyone had vegetable gardens. Lots of family gatherings for birthdays, etc. at their homes and ours. Always homemade ice cream in the summertime—vanilla and choclolate on Dad's side of the family and vanilla and lemon on Mom's side. Spent many hours playing in the woods (while avoiding the hogs) and along the stream on Granddad K's small farm.
I was already mowing a few neighbors' yards when the school custodian asked Dad if I'd be interested in mowing the school yard and athletic field. Dad said "sure" and then informed me I had a new job. I had access to the custodian's riding mower that we kept at our house and I had that job for a few years. Later, when I turned 16, I also started working summertime construction with Dad at the small contractor he had worked for since '46. Mostly new home construction and remodeling. At one point, I was the youngest of four members (three generations) of the family working there, and was following in the footsteps of an uncle who, many years earlier, worked summers as I was doing. It wasn't always fun, but it certainly was educational.
I didn't appreciate the big family reunions back then. With the passing of the older generations and cousins scattering, we don't see relatives as much any more. Fewer opportunities to reminisce.
Tom
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
I grew up in the 60's and 70's - graduated college in 1979.
I really don't remember a lot before 1980.
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
A lot of are lucky Lars,many of my High School chums were dead by their 40's,the most socializing i ever did was in my 30's when everyone in the neighborhood had kids but no money so a backyard picnic with a half keg was a great equalizer. I am still in the same neighborhood..but no one seems to need anyone nowadays..the street (in the early 70's) was full of noisy kids...it was great...now the teenagers on the street do not mix..they have their electronic device friends.
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08:41:22pm
re: Thinking back on just being a kid
Well, Philb, it is a small world indeed - I too am from Floral Park, though I lived there much longer than you did. What street did you live on, do you remember?
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re: Thinking back on just being a kid
Hello Speaker, i sure do i lived there 6 years...109 West Elder Ave. The last street before the Belmont racetrack..it was our playground winter and summer..it could have been dangerous but kids are tough.
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08:37:30pm
re: Thinking back on just being a kid
OK, I lived on the other side of town near the playground/ballfields/pool, so I played there a lot. I was at the pool almost every day in the summer.
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03:10:49pm
re: Thinking back on just being a kid
I am familiar with the tunnel, but didn't use it much since it wasn't near where I lived. Have you been down that way in recent years? It looks quite prosperous, being as it's a NYC bedroom community. The houses are modest in size, but many have been upgraded with fancy doors, windows, walkways, landscaping, and there are many BMWs. Contrasts with my friend who goes back to Ohio for a visit, and sees nothing but closed factories and shuttered storefronts.
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