I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. I would not trade it for anything in the world. We moved from the mountains to the city after my first grade. I could step out onto my front porch and see all of my friends’ houses. There were seven of us boys that grew up in that neighborhood and graduated high school together.
My neighborhood was a cross between The Sandlot and Stand By Me. We owned the only vacant lot on the street. It became the center of the community. Football, baseball, wiffle ball homerun derby, badminton, croquet, dodgeball, army, cowboys and indians. The grass never had a chance. Every week I had to mow the weeds, but it didn’t take long.
It was our territory. If boys from the next street over tried to walk down our street they were met with strong resistance. There were a fair amount of fistfights to protect our turf. They responded in kind. We used their neighborhood as a shortcut to the city pool, but we knew to travel in groups. One day I was delayed, and had to make that trip by myself. I thought about taking the long way around. I should have.
We also used the street for football. Someone would yell “Car,” and we would begrudingly move over and let it pass. All of the firecraker games were played in the street. The street had a gentle slope, so one team had the uphill advantage. This especially came into play if you were throwing cherry bombs, since they would roll down the hill. We also used black cats, TNTs, and M-80s. The last two were declared illegal in 1966, but we were driving by then, and had much larger weapons.
We blew up tin cans, toy soldiers, baby dolls, toy cars, and anything else that we could confiscate. We buried the explosives in the ground and created craters. It was on one certain occasion that I made a pretty good mistake.
One of my friends had a little brother named Mikey. I was probably twelve when he was eight. We were creating craters when one of the TNTs did not explode. The fuse went out just before it reached the bottom. Mikey was going to relight it. “No way, Mikey,” I warned. “It is way too dangerous. Let me do it.” Almost instantly when the match touched the fuse it exploded right in my face.
All I could hear was a high-pitched ringing. I could not see for the water streaming from my eyes. I ran through the vacant lot and into my house. I wanted to look in the mirror and see if I still had a nose. It took several minutes for my eyes to stop watering enough for me to see. My face was on fire. Then, when the tears stopped, I got my first look at my face. A little red. I still had a nose. Not bad. The ringing continued for several more minutes, but soon I was back outside blowing up anthills.
Turn Left 