A Day in My Young Life

“Once upon a time, there was a squirrel…” Drifting off to sleep to the sound of crickets while my dad whispered a bedtime story. My bed laid next to a large window with its sash opened wide, hearing nature saying goodnight while a gentle breeze covered me like a nestling blanket.

The suburban house where I was born was an ideal place to enjoy my freedom in the 60’s. A carpenter by trade, my dad built our homestead in 1959 to accommodate his increasing number of farm animals, vegetable gardens and a growing family. My Mom had a ring to it when she sang, “New…land… Avenue” revealing the street where we lived in South Stickney, Illinois, later to be named the City of Burbank in 1970.

Our family of 6 were comfortable in our 3-bedroom bungalow with a breezeway attached to an oversized garage that had a wood burning stove and a large driveway that comfortably park 6 cars. The two back bedrooms faced an abounding backyard, dividing us 4 sisters in 2 rooms. I shared a bedroom with my sister Patsy and her abundant Barbie collection with most days spent dressing them up in their homemade sock dresses.

As a child, I thought the land was bigger than a quarter acre with its homemade wire fence enclosing a chicken coop, a pigeon house, bee hives in our bountiful farmland. Sometimes the geese would chase me when I made a run for it, tip toeing through their poop, escaping the ankle biters. My dog, Terry, a white terrier, followed me everywhere in our backyard adventures.

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” A rooster crowing startling me awake at the break of dawn.

Chickens were a part of our daily lives. The coop my dad built had shelves lined up for the chickens to rest, sleep and lay their eggs with an outside run to exercise. The morning routine included washing the eggs clean of manure for breakfast. Later in life, I was surprised to learn the local supermarket cleaned the eggs, putting them in a carton and we didn’t have to do it ourselves.

My days were spent pretending I was sailing in the wide-open seas on an overturned row boat my dad kept in the backyard. The farmland animals were surrounding the boat, fighting my imaginary arch enemies. I’d delight riding my bike down the long sidewalk to the pigeon coop at the far end of the yard, imaging going to faraway places. Watching Beanie and Cecil, Rocky and Bullwinkle was my favorite cartoons when I needed to rest from my adventures.

On a typical day, my mom in her house dress and her pearl necklace washing clothes in the ringer wash machine, using a washboard with a bar of soap for stubborn stains. She would then carry her filled laundry basket upstairs, hanging them outside on the clothesline because owning a dryer was a luxury. I’d see her pulling out a rag from her apron pocket to wipe down the clothesline. The clothespins came from a decorative bag that looked like a fancy bag of toys when it swayed in the summer breeze.

My Dad was most comfortable in his suntan trousers and flannel shirt working in his garden, tending to his animals, while singing his silly songs, “What cha’ going to do when the sun goes down, lil’ bitty Betsy Boo.” He followed his muse in his dream farmland he created in the backyard.

At the end of the day, we gathered in our cool basement around our black and white television to watch Eliot Ness fight the Chicago mob in the series, The Untouchables, a family favorite. My Dad loved to watch Bob Hope entertain the military troops with songs and dancing pretty ladies. Mom adored Lawrence Welk and my sisters danced to American Bandstand.

My bedtime was at 8:00 when I was 8 years old, my mom set my hair in bobby pins and rubbed my achy legs from growing pains. I would listen through my screen window the squirrels running up the tree to their nest, chickens clucking among themselves, settling in the night while geese heading home from faraway places.

It came as a surprise when I think about the freedom to imagine when growing up now fueled a bounding zest for living.