Summer Once Meant Freedom and Exploration ...
... those days are long past, and we are all poorer for it.
By Donnie Johnston
COLUMNIST
There was a time when kids were free during summer vacation.
We didn’t have to get up at 6 am and get hauled off to some babysitter or daycare. For me and almost all my friends, there was either a mother at home or a grandmother (or maybe another close relative) just down the road.
We didn’t go to a different camp every week so we wouldn’t be “bored,” and we didn’t sit in the house and play on our phones or computers all day. We, at least for the most part, entertained ourselves.
Today’s generation hears tales of kids who actually got up when they were ready and headed out for a day of adventure, and most think that my generation is just making all this up. Not so. We enjoyed a freedom that kids may never see again.
During summer vacation it was routine for me to head outside as soon as I had breakfast and often not return until the sun had set. At the age of 12 I would either walk, ride my bicycle or thumb a ride the three miles to my Aunt Dora’s store on a daily basis.
If there was work to do in the garden, my trip might be delayed briefly, but by noon I was usually sitting on the old wooden bench chewing the fat with the old guys that hung around the store. I was just one of the boys.
No, my grandmother was never worried. I had family at the store, and she knew my aunts and my uncle would look out for me. And she knew the driver of almost every car that passed our house, so she was never concerned about who might stop to give me a lift.
And if I misbehaved, she knew her sisters or some neighbor would correct me. Moreover, they would be on the telephone in a heartbeat telling her what I had done, so I would get it again when I got home. That’s the way it was. Raising children was a was literally a community effort. And no one complained when someone else corrected your child.
While there were no “camps”, there was Bible School at virtually every Baptist and Methodist church in the area, and some kids made the rounds to each and every one.
Bible School was three hours of learning Bible verses, making crafts with popsicle sticks and toilet paper centers, singing “Jesus Loves Me” and washing down your sugar cookies with red Kool-Aid.
That went on for four days with an assembly on Friday where the parents would come and see you perform. Kids loved it and Bible School did break up the monotony of summer vacation.
One of the worst spankings I ever got resulted from Bible School. When I was about eight, my grandfather dropped me off at church and I convinced him to allow me to walk home (maybe two miles down a gravel road) with the neighbor kids after the session.
We came to a fork in the road when the neighbor kids went right and I was to turn left and walk alone for about three quarters of a mile. But there was an elderly lady, a family friend, who lived at the crossroads, and she made good cookies. So, instead of going on home, I stopped to visit.
Yes, she had cookies and yes, she had a big jar of red Kool-Aid. So, I hung around. But when I didn’t show up at home at the appointed time, my grandmother came looking for me with a switch in her hand. Next time I made no stops on the way home.
We always seemed to find things to do and created our own entertainment. We rode bicycles, played baseball and just explored the fields and woods. As I said, my generation enjoyed a freedom that today’s kids will never know or understand. And that’s a shame.
But then we had to fit into the adult world because our parents were too busy trying to make a living to cater to our every whim. We were on our own and we learned to take care of ourselves – and each other.
For us, summer vacation was really summer vacation
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