Finding Tinker Bell

         Small town life was “big time” as far as I knew.  Growing up in Duncan, Oklahoma, in the late 1950’s-mid 60’s was home-made peach ice cream at its very best.  No one I knew locked their doors at night or when they went to work. Keys dangled from car ignitions all over town.  Miscellaneous children traipsed in and out of neighboring homes as if they belonged in all of them. Life seemed – and probably was - much simpler way back in those good ole days…

         “Go outside and play!” was the command I remember hearing the most from my Mom.  It made no difference if the temperature was freezing cold or sweltering hot since she - and everyone else close to her age on our block - repeated the mantra,  “It’s good for you,” on a daily basis.  I’m convinced that all Moms and Dads thought alike back then.  What was good for one child was good for us all, so I rarely had to hang outside all by myself.

         My annual – and only - cold winter adrenaline-rush came from hanging onto a sled that was towed behind a neighbor’s fake brown wood paneled station wagon along snow and ice encrusted streets.  Pretty tame fare - eating muddy slush ejected from beneath spinning tires – until the downhill sled began to outpace the car!  I put my trust in children leaning down from the open tailgate to push me away from the beckoning undercarriage.  In turn, they placed their faith in me and justly so!  (Needless to say, this occurred long before such activity was deemed unsuitable.)  However, my hot summer undertakings were plentiful and more interesting, while at times a bit peculiar…

         Staying up past the school year bedtime hour was always a good thing, in my learned opinion.  Crickets chirping… frogs croaking…locusts whirring… the latent smell of fresh cutgrass… all culminated into a sharp relief of summertime freedom.  On clear starry nights, several neighboring adults would stretch out on green and white woven plastic lawn chairs in my backyard and stare for hours into the black heavens while searching for a bright satellite the size of a pinpoint.  One night, as unintended fodder for this jocular crowd, my Dad fell asleep with his mouth open and swallowed a June bug!  He swore he could feel it moving as it journeyed alive and kicking down his esophagus to the great abyss.

         On nights when the grown-ups would crow with laughter at the retelling of this revered event, my friends and I would catch lightening bugs that were in fact, fairies.  I just knew that the more bugs I examined in my cupped hands, the greater the chance I had to recognize that one special – famous beyond all other fairies – Tinker Bell.  What other way would I be able to fly to Neverland where I could fight pirates…never eat liver…and go to bed after 9:00 p.m.?

         To this end, I am sure that I practiced instinctively.  One summer, the fathers on our street banded together like Robin Hood’s merry men to teach archery to their children.  (Naturally my bow was the color blue, which was crucial to the true flight of my arrows.)  They placed practice targets…aka pirate ships…on a vacant lot between two houses where girls and boys took turns hitting the bull’s-eye.  As undiminished memory serves, we all excelled at this helpful life-skill.

         Imagined bravery bolstered my nerve to the point where I could finally tell Mom that I would skip dinner and happily go straight to my room for the rest of the night.  This revelation came as I climbed my front porch steps following a hard day of shooting blazing arrows at mean pirates – and after the smell of frying liver and onions barreled out of the front door and almost knocked me off my feet.  It worked!  I never had to eat liver again…even without moving to Neverland.

         Perhaps one of my more irregular summer activities was playing with the local tarantula population.  My cousins and I would shove the end of a garden water hose into tarantula holes and turn on the water – momentarily flooding the balding, two fanged creepers out of their homes and sending them scurrying in every direction.  We’d shriek in feigned delight (sheer horror) when they ran directly at us.  They are fast!  Hairy, black, eight legged, venomous, monster spiders that seemed angry (frightened) and darted every which way made for terrific late night stories at bedtime.

         Badminton, foursquare, and hide and seek games punctuated my summers with healthy competition.  Penny candy, homemade ice cream and Mom’s outstanding chocolate cream pie peppered my appetite with blissful rivalry.  Although I don’t play those particular games anymore, I still play and I still enjoy dessert!  Today, the good ole days are reborn every time I see my grandchildren use their imaginations, play their own games, and enjoy their favorite treats.  Simple pleasures are alive and well - and my granddaughter dreams of finding Tinker Bell…