Been strangely nostalgic since waking up this morning. Not sure if it's because it's the first weekend in a long time that I've been able to sleep in both days, or just general atmsophere, or what. I did just finish re-reading "Gone Baby Gone" by Dennis Lehane...I'm sure that's a big part of it. But I've been mentally reminiscing about my childhood in Spokane, which is odd unto itself, considering I really consider my formative years to have been spent Moscow-side. But my earliest memories are of the house we shared with my grandparents there up until age 8, when we moved to Idaho, and are some of the most vivid I have.
We lived about a block off of one of the major roadways in north Spokane...Francis Ave...and a block the parallel direction from Addison, which was decently busy traffic-wise during our time there. The house was situated on the corner of Wiscomb and Dalke, but sat back in the center of a sizeable lot, with a semi-circular driveway leading to the rock-bordered front porch upon which I nearly poked out an eye. There was church just slightly kitty-corner across the street with a vast expanse of parking that never held more than 4 or 5 cars on the borders unless it was Sunday service, and so it was the neighborhood kids' personal bike/skateboard/roller skate/chalk hopscotch drawing flat-paved paradise. I once drew an entire haunted house with probably ten "stops" on it and brought Mom over by the hand to take the tour.
Grandpa Nubby always had a garden of some variety going to the north of the house itself, and kept the yard to the south green, trimmed, and bordered by a series of the most fragrant pink rosebushes I've yet to encounter. The house itself always seemed *enormous* to me...anything would, at age 6...but I remember loving the layout, the nooks and crannies, everything about it. As much as I think Google Satellite View is brilliant for this sort of thing, I'm saddened to see how disheveled and unappreciated it looks now.
If I could have that lot and house here in the Puget Sound, oh, the things I would do. Get rid of that old wire fencing and put up a low wooden one around the entire site. Rebuild the garden into neat rows of green, red and yellow. Remove the patio roof and add some kind of wooden deck either over or around it. Perhaps cobblestone or cement-etch the semicircular driveway and border it with those little lantern-lights...yes, in a perfect world, I'd probably rebuild it from the blueprints and modify only a little to make it my dream house.
My brother and I roamed that house in and out, over the gate by the garage into the gravel alley that extended up to Francis, to the video game arcade (first called "The Blue Marble" and then "Wonderland") in which we both spent quarters like rain, back down the alley by the church and up the trees in the partially-vacant lot on the opposite south corner. Except for the occasional interpersonal squabbles with our friends and the admonishment not to enter, cross or in any way *access* Francis Avenue, I remember us having almost complete free reign.
And that's the part that I keep snagging on in my roamings this morning...I don't remember Mom, Gram, or Nubs ever being this looming, constantly-present figure. I am *certain* that they were always aware of our doings...either Gramps out hoeing in the garden while we were in the church lot, or faces in the windows we couldn't see and were too busy to notice. Considering that Mom wouldn't take us on vacations because of her fear of something happening to one of us when her back was turned, I have no doubts on this.
But I also think that there were plenty of times when we were scurrying down alleys playing live-action D&D, hiding in the neighbor's woodpile to look at purloined Playboy pages, riding in the basket of Gram's bike:
while Jas hauled me around the block that we were not within range...of earshot, sight, anything. I marvel that we were given such freedom and independence, as were all of the neighborhood kids, especially considering this was the era of Kevin Coe and his South Hill attacks (one of which involved my cousin's wife, out for a jog in the morning, so you would imagine our family would've been even more attuned and concerned. She did escape unharmed, but most others were not as fortunate.)
All of which made me consider those of you who have children and are raising them in a variety of climates, most of which are comparable in size and environment to Spokane or larger. There isn't anyone left to ask on my end...to find out if they really were far more "with us" than we knew...so I'm infinitely more curious as to the process now. How do you handle the need to be on alert at all times and as protective as possible while not being oppressive or making yourself and the children paranoid of every potential issue or pitfall?
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