THE SOUND OF CHILDHOOD

That's what the picture is entitled. Of course that got me thinking. Simon and Garfunkel explained the Sounds of Silence, but what about the sounds of childhood.

First, for us Boomers our childhoods were in black and white. I know, this entry is about sounds, but I had to add that right off. I once explained to a class of mine that there was no color in the world until 1957. Rather like that movie Pleasantville, I guess. Or The Wizard of Oz in Kansas at the beginning.

On to sounds. Playing. That equivalent of adult work. And we were all workaholics. Honestly, many, many days we played from just after breakfast until bedtime. Only checking in at meal times. So sounds of laughing, sounds of balls hitting bats, of kid games from hopscotch to board games could be heard at any hour.

Bicycles were so big, too. That sound of a rattling chain against the chain guard, the burning of rubber as the bike skidded sideways to a sudden stop and an equally sudden jump off of the rider. The slamming down of the bike in the front yard as you returned home and had to hurry. And yes, the baseball cards clothespinned to the spokes to make a real sound like a motor scooter. Also, the jumping of small curbs and hills to land Evel Knievel-like maybe five feet away.

The ice cream man who preceded the snow cone truck. Some played carnival music. Others the bell. Someone would hear it first. "Joe's a-coming." Joe, the Bowen's Ice Cream Truck driver was known to all, and he knew all the kids names and what their order was to be. A dime, yup, I'm that old, would score you a single dip cone toppled over ice cream dripping and melting in Summer sun.

The only other significant sound was the unique sound of our mother's yelling. "It's time to come home, Teddy." Or after the third time. "You better get home now." When I heard the last one, I knew the sounds of that childhood day was over.