Last night, I had a conversation on my flight home from Memphis about night games. Night games were the greatest! 1-2-3 sardines, kick the can, capture the flag. The favorite on our block when my sisters and I were growing up was ditch. Which was basically a square-block area of hide and seek. The fun lasted until we heard "Elizabeth, Gretchen, Stephanie, time to come home!!!" One neighbor's parents whistled when it was time for her to go home, and the Locker boys never had a curfew.
Tom and I were at the playground the other night (least expensive gym out there) and there were these two young boys playing there. They started to do our circuit with us which involved pushups, modified monkey-bar chin ups, and laps around the park, until their parents called out their names to come in. It was great to have that memory come back; that neighborhood feel, hearing each house's respective owners call out for their offspring. And sad, that they were the only boys in a neighborhood of umpteen kids who were outside playing. What happened to 'TV/Video games off after dinner' rules?
Anyhoo, the reason this whole conversation came up on my flight is because we were packed in like sardines. I get to my aisle seat, to find some guy sitting there, saying, "can we switch seats so I can be by my kids? My seat is right up there in the middle." Excellent. I was trapped in a middle seat with two kids in front of me, screaming about how they lost their toy, which, for the third time had been thrown over into my row. Thankfully the stroll down memory lane kept me sane...
