The real Memorial Day

I grew up in one of those 1950s neighborhoods you read about: lawns and woods and kids and games, games and more games. There was Michigan Rummy, where the penny-stacked cards extended through the halls and out the doors; Kinney Over, where we threw a little red ball over the Mercer’s garage and the other side had to catch it; dodge ball, kickball, and, when all else failed, games I’d make up.

Our parents inaugurated the summer with the Memorial Day picnic, always on May 30 even if it was in the middle of the week. The grownups drank and barbequed, we ate, and then we’d all play softball, my father the designated pitcher. It was summer, endless summer; we had the July 4th picnic to look forward to, and the fireworks. Labor Day, so aptly, depressingly named, was just too far away to contemplate.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Celebrations, festivals, memorials, My so-called-life and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s