Um, Where Were The Grown-Ups? Part I

*Disclaimer* Under no circumstances should the "grown-ups" in my family read this...you guys don't come off so good...

This blog has a few purposes. It has not turned out as I originally intended it to be, that is, a place for me to offer up overtly opinionated rants about the things that bug me or excite me or even bore me without anyone disagreeing or rolling their eyes and walking away. Blogging promised a captive audience, which I rarely get in my real life. Yes, I realize that all you have to do is hop to the next blog, but I will never know and can blissfully assume that you stayed through the whole of my well thought out and articulately conveyed tirade, nodding in approval the whole way with a shout of "Yeah, you got that right, NatureGirl!" at the end. But it has not turned out that way. Sure, there have been a few rants about this or that but mostly this has become my journal. A bit of a family history of sorts. My place to organize a random thought or two, to practice writing and to improve my typing skills. Although today that is difficult. I still have 4 stitches in my left pinky finger and cannot type with it. Which would be a huge nuisance if we used the letter "a" often!

So in keeping with the family history idea, I thought perhaps I could find a few old stories collecting dust in the attic, brush off the cobwebs and share. Trust me, these will not be interesting to anyone but my immediate family, but perhaps my posterity will get a kick out of tales from the dark ages before internet, ipods and cable television. A bygone era where children didn't wear sunscreen or shoes and were forced outside by their mothers early in the day and not let back in the house until the street lights came on. It was pure torture.

My family was in construction. For quite a few years, the WHOLE family. Papa, Dad, Mom, Aunties and Uncles. All living side by side in a row of houses on the same street. Except for Mr. Toy, the mailman, who lived in the middle of the row. There are 7 grandchildren (cousins) with only 8 years between the oldest and the youngest. Using our grandfather's last name we called ourselves the 7 C's. Yes, we were just clever like that, and boy did we have adventures. Our grandmother passed away last fall and we were all together for the first time in many years at the memorial. Sharing stories was wonderful, but the common thread throughout seemed to be, "Um, where were the grown-ups?" We were free-range children.

The one incident I will share now involved only me and my cousin DYT (not her real name just initials to protect the guilty...most of this stuff really was her idea). We often roamed the neighborhood, making forts in the nearby fields and rollerskating on the newly poured foundations of houses just going up. This particular day we were playing in the nearly finished racquetball club going in down the street. When everyone was done for the day they packed up, shut off the lights and locked all the doors. No one noticed two little girls INSIDE one of the courts. Now, if you have ever played racquetball you might note here that the doors of a court are smooth, including a recessed handle, and now it is pitch black, making it impossible to find said door! I do not know how long we screamed and searched for the way out. Truth be told I do not even remember being rescued, perhaps I blacked out. I cannot even remember if we got in trouble. All I know is that when that story is told, the only question anyone asks is, "Um, where were the grown-ups?"

Quote of the Day: "Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children."

~George Bernard Shaw