Autumn Days of Boyhood

A hayride on an Autumn night
Well we was 15 if I remember right
We were far apart at the start of the ride
but somehow we ended up side by side
We hit a bump and she grabbed my arm
The night was as cold as her lips were warm
I shivered as her hand held mine
And then I kissed her one more time

And Jane if I had known--
I might have stopped kissing right then
It's just as well we don't know
when things will never be that good again
                                -- Greg Brown, If I Had Known

This morning the temperature has dipped down into the 50’s, and I LOVE it.  It brings to mind one of the aspects of being in the northeast that I miss the most – seasons.  It’s not that there aren’t any here, but the changes are more gradual and less striking.  The chill that’s in the air brings me back to the autumn days of my boyhood.  The school year was new and nightfall began sneaking up more quickly on us as we played on our street.  New clothes, bought at the Sears in White Plains, came out.  The new line-up of TV shows, airing on the few channels we got back then in the days before cable, started airing.

When I got older and surrounded myself with a good group of friends, we sometimes drove up to Outhouse Orchards on Hardscrabble Road in North Salem, New York.  We did a little apple picking, but mostly we laughed and had fun.

Halloween also comes up in memory.  The odd-smelling plastic masks that were held uncomfortably by a thin elastic band – looking back, I’m sure those masks could not have been good for us.  And the matching costumes were made of a thin layer of synthetic which felt imminently flammable as we walked past jack-o-lanterns lit with real burning candles, in order to grab handfuls of loots and pennies for our orange Unicef boxes.  We collected enough candy to last months; now that I’m a father, I understand why it never did.

I remember touch football games that often devolved into tackle with no pads or helmets, during which I proudly defied my friends to bring me down.  I was a surprisingly good football player for someone whose parents forbade him to play.  Writing this now, I realize I do harbor a dash of resentment at having been denied the opportunity to explore my talents in that sport.  I might have learned some real, military-style discipline.  I might have gotten fit.  I might have excelled. 

Not to mention all those cheerleaders and majorettes who reserved themselves for the boys wearing maroon and white . . .

And now my mother’s voice creeps in:  You might have also been spared broken bones, concussions,  steroids, chronic pain, and dependency on medication…