We used to play a game called "Kick the can." It was a simple game any number could play. One kid was "it" and he/she covered his/her eyes while standing by the can and counted to 20, while all the others hid. The "it" child then went hunting for any other player and when that player was sighted their name and location was called out and then it was a race back to the can. It the "it" kid got there first the "it" role changed from the "it" to a hiding player. If the one in hiding got there first and kicked the can, then the next round began as before. The trick was to make sure you didn't pass by one of the hiding kids because they would wait until you found someone and then kick the can and you were stuck playing the "it" another round. I was a fun game.
Here's another page from my memory files. Most of us have seen the Disney movie "Snow White" which came out initially in 1937, though no one living today saw it in 1937. We all saw it as children and many years after its first showing. The song lyrics written for the movie by Larry Morey included the tune "Whistle While You Work."
I was a young lad in the early fifties, 10 years after WW-2, but we kids in the neighborhood had our own rendition of the song. It went like this, "Whistle while you work, Hitler was a jerk, Mussolini was a weenie, so whistle while you work."
Another memory of about the same time was a particular softball game. I sucked as a fielder or a batter, was always the last one picked on a team, so I usually ended up playing catcher behind the plate, where I could do no harm. The day in question we were playing in the neighborhood schoolyard. Betty Tate, an older woman of perhaps 15, was my sole infatuation in those days. She was on the other team and when she came up to bat, just being near her made me feel good. As anyone knows, when you try to hit the ball, you step into the pitch as you swing the bat. Apparently no one ever told Betty. She was at the plate and I was crouched down behind her waiting to catch the ball if she missed it. The pitch came in and instead of stepping into it and taking a swing, Betty stepped back, pulled the bat back hard and cracked my forehead open like a melon at a Gallagher show. The blood came our like a stuck pig. Everyone in the game just stood there in horror, not knowing what to think or do. Lucky for me the beat policeman happened to be making his rounds of the schoolyard. He ran over, pulled his handkerchief out, pressed against the wound and took me home. No telling what may have happened if he had not been on the scene. I ended up in the doctor's office, got a few stitches and a knot on my forehead that is still there today. I rarely notice it these days, but when I do, I think of Betty. She never had any use for me at all, but she did make a lasting impression on me.
Here's another page from my memory files. Most of us have seen the Disney movie "Snow White" which came out initially in 1937, though no one living today saw it in 1937. We all saw it as children and many years after its first showing. The song lyrics written for the movie by Larry Morey included the tune "Whistle While You Work."
I was a young lad in the early fifties, 10 years after WW-2, but we kids in the neighborhood had our own rendition of the song. It went like this, "Whistle while you work, Hitler was a jerk, Mussolini was a weenie, so whistle while you work."
Another memory of about the same time was a particular softball game. I sucked as a fielder or a batter, was always the last one picked on a team, so I usually ended up playing catcher behind the plate, where I could do no harm. The day in question we were playing in the neighborhood schoolyard. Betty Tate, an older woman of perhaps 15, was my sole infatuation in those days. She was on the other team and when she came up to bat, just being near her made me feel good. As anyone knows, when you try to hit the ball, you step into the pitch as you swing the bat. Apparently no one ever told Betty. She was at the plate and I was crouched down behind her waiting to catch the ball if she missed it. The pitch came in and instead of stepping into it and taking a swing, Betty stepped back, pulled the bat back hard and cracked my forehead open like a melon at a Gallagher show. The blood came our like a stuck pig. Everyone in the game just stood there in horror, not knowing what to think or do. Lucky for me the beat policeman happened to be making his rounds of the schoolyard. He ran over, pulled his handkerchief out, pressed against the wound and took me home. No telling what may have happened if he had not been on the scene. I ended up in the doctor's office, got a few stitches and a knot on my forehead that is still there today. I rarely notice it these days, but when I do, I think of Betty. She never had any use for me at all, but she did make a lasting impression on me.
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