Gin
In Neighborhoods I wrote about the different places in which I lived in Pittsfield, recounting stories about what it was like to live in each locality. I’ve been thinking about those experiences since I posted that piece, reviewing and analyzing those memories with my adult mindset. I’m struck by the differences among these neighborhoods and my reaction to them. Some of those differences had to do with my being different ages, some had to do with the state of my parents' finances, and some had to do with the way each neighborhood had its own culture or sense of place.
I wrote about Stanley Avenue having a “Father Knows Best” feel. Bill wasn’t sure what I meant, asking that I expand on those perceptions. Simply put, when I was living at Stanley, there was a sense the neighbors were parents of us all.
One day I was playing in a yard across the street a few houses up from mine. My friend had a swing set in her yard. It was the first time I knew someone who had her own playground equipment. The ends were metal poles set up in a triangular arrangement which held up a horizontal metal pole. On the pole hung two swings, one on each side. In the middle, there was a trapeze bar. This friend (Molly?) tried to teach me how to “skin the cat” on the trapeze. This was a move in which you hang from the bar and then bring your legs up and over your shoulders and then back down again. As this is particularly hard on the shoulders, I don't believe I ever completed one. It looked easy when Molly did it.
I also remember the two of us swinging so high we would pull one of the swing supports up out of the ground. The whole swing set shook as it settled back in. This gave the whole enterprise of swinging a slightly dangerous sensation. We also liked to get going really fast then jump off at the height of the swing's forward movement to see how far we could propel ourselves off the swing. On one of these jumps, I landed on an exposed tree root and scraped my knee. I didn't really want to go home because once you go home, your mother would say something like, "It's so close to supper, why don't you stay in now." Instead, Molly’s mother tended to the cut, cleaning it and providing a Bandaid. I liked that any adult in the neighborhood could take care of any of the kids.
I used to ride my two wheeler (well, four wheeler, really, because it still had the training wheels attached) up the street to a little grassy triangle at the end of Stanley. One afternoon I got involved in a game with some other kids, moved from the grass to one of their yards, and eventually going home as it grew dark. A few hours later, a neighbor was knocking on our kitchen door. I had completely forgotten about my bike leaving it in the grassy lot. The father of the kid I was playing with recognized it as mine returning it before I even knew to miss it. While my parents were unhappy I had abandoned the bike without thinking, I was happy we lived in a neighborhood where everyone seemed to keep an eye on everyone else.
The people my parents rented from on Stanley were an elderly couple who lived on the first floor; we lived on the second. Even though they rarely spoke to me, one birthday they gave me a Little Miss Housekeeper cleaning set, a kid's size broom, mop and dustpan, all made of pink plastic. First I was surprised they even gave me a birthday gift. I was more surprised surprised by what it was. I was happy to receive a gift at all even though I didn't want to use my playtime practicing sweeping.
The distance from Stanley to Dewey may have just been a matter of a few miles but it was a very different environment. It meant leaving Crane School to attend Tucker School. The recess games at Crane were social, played on a grassy hill at the back of the school. Everyone participated in these games, boys and girls alike. Games like Red Rover, Little Sally Saucer, Duck Duck Goose or my favorite, Mother May I. Since you needed a lot of people to play them, the recess environment, bustling with kids, was the perfect venue. The games were all about running, jumping, moving, yelling. Winning or losing didn't seem important; it was more like a party, everyone having fun.
At Tucker, the recess games took place on a gravel school yard. Boys played kick ball or tag while girls did hand clap games, "I am a pretty little Dutch girl as happy as can be be be..." Jump rope was popular as well, double dutch being the real challenge. As a nine year old, I simply went along with whatever other kids were doing. While I missed playing Mother May I, I became happily involved in the hand clap games and jump rope. That's what you did at recess at Tucker School. I never tried to bring the Crane recess games to the Tucker kids. I adjusted and joined in.
For my mother, the adjustment wasn't as easy. One event from that first summer is telling. We had moved just after the school year had ended in June. One day early in July a family in our building invited me to go to the lake for the day. This family included a girl a couple of years older than I. Actually, she's the one who asked me. I begged my mother to let me go. Having only lived on Dewey a short time, my mother, as yet, hadn't met or chatted with these neighbors. However, she did know how much I loved swimming. It was a hot day. She agreed I could go with them.
When I got back home, I excitedly told her all about the day. “We went to a different part of the lake. Not the part where we go. It’s on the other side of the lake. You can look back and see the docks and the bath house.” My mother looked at me as she slowly realized what I was describing. “You mean you didn’t go to the part of the lake with the lifeguards?” “No,” I admitted, suddenly realizing my mother was upset. She had assumed anyone going to the lake would swim in the life-guarded area. To do otherwise would put a child in danger. To her it was an unpleasant surprise this family didn't have the same values as my mother did.
I never knew if she spoke to this neighbor about the incident. Likely not. She wouldn’t have wanted to hurt their feelings. She wouldn’t have wanted them to think she was saying her family was better than theirs. I do know I never went to the lake with them again. The idea that other parents wouldn’t automatically share the same beliefs about where it was appropriate to bring children to swim safely added to my mother’s unease about living in this part of the city. She missed that sense of connection and shared values she had felt at Stanley.
The Dewey neighbors and Tucker students included what we politely called “colored people” at the time. After school and on weekends I would play jump rope with the black girls who lived across the street as a continuation of the games we played during Tucker recess. I remember a girl who attended a different school than Tucker telling me I shouldn't be playing jump rope with "those girls". "That's a game they play, not us," she said. As she told me this I remember wondering who were "us" and who were "they." I asked my mother. What she told me was, "You can play with anyone you want to." And I did.
I am sure my mother felt good that growing up on Dewey meant I was able to play jump rope if I wanted and with whom I wanted. But living on Dewey also meant no family playground events and less trust that all adults would have similar attitudes. It may have been her need to have adults in her life with shared values that motivated a decision my parents made that summer. After fifteen years of being married without any religious connections, they started attending the Pittsfield Unitarian Church. The church was a social hub, not just Sunday services, but family dinners, women's groups, mens’ groups, and many activities for children. Lacking a sense of community in the neighborhood, they found one in the Unitarian Church.
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