Hey you... yeah you, you old turd.
Yesterday, it was discussed much of life is learned in the sandbox. (I will offer a small disclaimer.. I hate sand, I do. It gets alloverya, by crackie. Yet, there ain't a day that goes by when I hear someone, I say someone, say "dreaming of being at the beach to cure it all." (Disposition, the shakes, getting the heck outta Dodge, take this job and shove it, sand/sun/fun.)" Eh, mebbe. It gets in the car, in the hotel room, damn near everywhere, by crackie.
So, yes, we learn in the sandbox. Fun, jointly. Conflict, left to be settled by ourselves. Hurt, "hey, don't throw that crap wouldya?" Sharing, insteada taking my ball and going home. Difference, as in, the wooden box where the triangles, rectangles, squares, circles, yada, are taken and placed thru the corresponding shaped holes in the box, as in boy, girl, knowitall, shy one, bully, nice, arm's length, introvert, extrovert, innie, outtie, BFFBC (Best friend forever, by crackie.) Harmony in a world of difference.
But, by crackie, or is that butt, by crackie? The sandbox is square. Restrictive. Scroll to some years later, like, micromanagement. Henpecked. OK OK OK, himpecked too. We needs us some freedom, right Richie Havens? Creativity. Beat. Room to move. Stuff to 'oh baby' our soul. Katy bar the door and open that dadum gate so we can run (and learn) like the wind.
Music. THAT'S IT! Sandbox, AND, music. From when we were little turds. You mean like 60's music? YES! Perfect. Sandbox and music. Rhythmic life 'outside the (sand) box.' 'Pacificly (or Atlantically) 60's music.
The Twist. That got us'a jumpin. It also got us in trouble in the dodgeball circle at recess. "NO DANCING," which, I later in life, as a student at WJC (Southern Baptist affiliated) learned "we don't do that, we're Baptist" or something like that. Anyways, Chubby rocked, we rolled, and twisted.
Downtown. YES Petula! Hell (I mean heck, sorry) to the yes! That first bit of freedom, get on the Schwinn, maybe even put your ballglove on the handlebar, and mebbe even clothespin Moose Skowron's '62 Topps card so the spokes hit it (sounding likes we gotta motor), and go.. we did. Outta the sandbox, Freedom.
I've been everywhere, man. Yes, we were still very wet behind the ears, still a bit'a sand we couldn't get out, by crackie, but... we were somebody once 'Downtown', Petula, freedom, Schwinn happened. Been to Safeway, Breipohl, Mattinglys, McBowl... City Park, Billy Jewell, Dairy B, up/down the Franklin flagpole... Beggs, Brants, Mugs Up, Trails Inn... Clayview, City Hall, Bennett Park, Buds Pool Hall, Hey, lemme in! Everywhere, we thought we'd been everywhere. (Bud's was a growing up all too fast lessen for another day. Puff puff, cough cough, cuss cuss.)
All you need is love... which, perhaps coincides with And then it happened. We chased and chased 'her' (or him) on playgound. Whatinthehell we'd do if we ever caught 'em, no idea, but we chased. Unchain my heart..... Can't you hear my heartbeat... Piece'a my heart. And life was never the same. JK, kinda sorta, not really.
Help! I need somebody. Help, you know I need someone. Stand by me. Sealed with a kiss. The hell? Goodness gracious great balls of fire! The heck was that? LA LA LA LA BAMBA! Whew! Does your chewing gum lose it's flavor on the bedpost at night?
Gulp. Outta the sandbox, sorting those shapes into the box we easy compared to this stuff. Twas easier back when we went to play Indian ball at the City Park. I ain't never had my heart beat like that. Ball of Confusion... Good vibrations, all the same. Oh Pretty Woman.. When a man loves a woman. I want to hold your hand. I can't stop loving you.
Then, ruh roh happened by crackie. My little Runaway, she run run run run thataway. Where did our love go? I can't stop loving you. These (those) boots are (were) made for walking. Round round get around I get around (VICTOR! YOU ASS, MEN ARE OINK OINKS TOO!) But, I heard it through the grapevine.
Breakin up is hard to do. The sound of silence. Monday Monday. I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter, and make believe it came from you. Crazy, by crackie.
It's fun (to me) to look back. Wasn't it Little Jimmy Dickens who wrote It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Then we grew up. Victor? Yes? I call BS. OK, lemme rephrase. We made it to here. Thinking about all we've done, where we've been, how we got there, makes me tired. And smile. And laugh. And cry. And give thanks. And feel blessed.
Recollection of things from the past. Running. Jumping. Sledding. First kisses. Sock hops (leastwise, on purpose ones).. Sadie Hawkins. Euell Gibbons (never ate a pine tree). Climbing trees. Forward rolls. The shuttle run. 600 yard dash. Baseball Ray.
It's Over. NO IT AIN'T ROY! We gots tons of living to do! Slower. Wiser? Sure, chagrin, but, tis now easy to sit with a grin. The water of fun that's gone under the bridge in life comforts. Hells bells, now we can jump in car, touch a screen and see what's behind us, while still, going forward.
By crackie.
Love, Victurd
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