The park area was already alive with
activity on this warm July morning. Arizona's fabled summer sun had
yet to reach its skin-melting apex as the dogs and I sought refuge in
cool shade at the base a large eucalyptus. The grandchildren and
their new friend flew a kite under the watchful eyes of Grandma and
the little girl's mother. I settled back to enjoy watching the world
go by.
The temperature was a still bearable 90
degrees before
beginning its inexorable climb into double digits. Soon, the park
would nearly empty during the midday heat, only to refill in late
afternoon for an evening of barbecues, patriotic music and fireworks.
For now though, the sights and sounds of children at play filled
this green oasis in a desert city.
Not far away, little girls played jacks
on a sidewalk meticulously swept of any foreign particle which might
affect the bounce of the ball. Well away from the dainty young
ladies, some boys chose to set up shop in a less pristine enclave
devoid of concrete or grass. Playing marbles “for keeps” from a
circle scribed in the powdered dirt, they whooped and hollered as a
player's favorite aggie fell victim to a well knuckled shot.
A paper bag and bits of cardboard
formed the diamond for a pickup softball game. The teams had only
six players to each side. One of the batting team's players acted as
catcher – actually, more as retriever of pitches until a ball was
hit, then the pitcher became the person covering home plate. There
was no umpire, so there were no walks. A batter either got a hit or
struck out swinging. Having only two outfielders caused another
defensive problem. Any ball hit past the outfield players became an
almost automatic home run as an outfielder chased it down. No ground
rule double in this contest.
The rolling scrum moving toward my lair
drew my attention. A solitary youth bolted from the pack carrying
what looked to be a volleyball. The others quickly turned in pursuit
until he threw to ball up and back over his head. The former runaway
then rejoined the group in chasing down the bouncing orb. The cycle
repeated several times as each person grabbing the ball ran as if
being chased by the Devil himself, tossing away the ball just before
being tackled. Here was a game I recognized from my own preteen
years, the outcome was inevitable.
From my distance I couldn't determine
if it was bravado or terror as one runner, refusing to relinquish his
prize, tried to run through the closing crowd. He was quickly
enveloped to a chorus of “Dog pile on the rabbit!” The boys fell
back in laughter and cheers as they unwound until the “rabbit”
was no longer buried under a writhing stack of humanity. The hapless
“rabbit” stood to brush off dirt and bits of grass, then
performed an end-zone dance and spike worthy of Neon Dion. After a
few minutes of rest, one daring soul snatched the ball, and the game
continued.
Everywhere I looked, children engaged
in the type of politically incorrect endeavors now prohibited in most
schoolyards. Little girls continually raising their own measure of
success at jacks, with each pass more difficult than the last.
Little boys risking their own capital in that dirt circle for the
opportunity to increase their holdings, putting their marbles where
their mouths were, so to speak. Batters swinging to succeed or fail
on their own, with no free passes. Outfielders hustling to make that
put-out throw without benefit of a fence safety net or regulations
designed to hobble their competition.
The roughhouse bunch, again coming my
way, demonstrated a concept required for prevailing in life's
conflicts. There were times when people must turn and face their
adversity. The runner this time was quick and nimble, executing
sharp turns to maintain his advantage on the pursuers. A shoe came
off during one of these maneuvers and he spun toward them with index
fingers crossed. “King's ex!” The others obliged while he
retrieved the wayward footwear and tied it firmly in place. Once he
was ready, they buried him. Yes, even the budding warriors, engaged
in mock combat, still had respect, chivalry, and a sense of fair play.
I was surrounded by Americana on our
nation's birthday and couldn't help but think, “Children are such
wonderful teachers. Why can't we learn from them?”
Dennis P. O'Neil