Friday, November 26, 2010

The Haunted Fields

Childhood has changed since I was little. If you’re a man in your forties or fifties, you only have to walk through your own neighborhood on a clear, chilly Saturday to sense that something is wrong. Near my house are several open fields, places where my childhood friends and I could have spent an entire day playing football – or whiffle ball in the summer. Today they are barren of activity, unless some organized, adult-supervised team is practicing, which isn’t the same thing at all.

I had the organized experience, too – in little league baseball, which was less enjoyable, more stressful, and more politically charged than the backyard variety. I can remember coaches who cared too desperately about winning, and insanely partisan parents (not mine, I’m happy to say) who couldn’t refrain from shouting rude complaints from the stands. Kids don’t need adults as much as adults think. The old neighborhood games weren’t just more fun, they were actually more educational, a kind of training ground in human relations and group dynamics. Our games presented a series of problems we kids needed to solve on our own.

In my neighborhood in the 1970s, the boys began almost any vacation day by running from house to house gathering together enough kids for a game. For football, almost any rectangular area would do. Sometimes we combined a couple of treeless front yards. We set out markers for the sidelines and end zones; then we formed teams, which called for a fair weighing of the various kids’ abilities, because the point was to enjoy a close game. Any kid might be allowed play – girls, first-graders. We would just alter the rules about tackling, and so forth, to fit the situation. In fact, if we needed more players, we conscripted kids. My older sister could sometimes be talked into joining us if we promised not to tackle hard. It was easy to hurt her feelings, too, so she had to be managed carefully to keep her from ruining the game by suddenly quitting. Keeping the game going meant keeping the peace, which meant we had to make sure that everyone was having fun.

Disputes about calls were rare. The older boys generally functioned as player-referees. Although they were striving to win, they also understood that fairness and compromise were more productive than rancor. I remember a few of our games quite well, either because of a dramatic finish or a hilarious incident, such as the time when we allowed a five-year-old named Brad Gaines to join us. He was so afraid to be tackled that he’d run the wrong direction to avoid us, and on one play, just for fun, several of us defensive players herded him all the way back down the field into his own end zone before tackling him – gently, of course.

Ironically, Brad grew up to be a star fullback in the SEC. But for most of the rest of us, those games defined our days of football glory. On our neighborhood fields, over countless games, we came to know the pleasure of a perfectly thrown pass, an amazing, one-handed catch, a sure tackle, or an elusive run. We were our own heroes and the broadcasters of our own brief moments of local fame. Away from the adults, we had everything we needed. There, more than anywhere, we celebrated our childhood.

That’s how I know that my present neighborhood is haunted, just like my old neighborhood in Tennessee, where the spirit of those days survives – if only in the imagined shadows of children coursing over the grass, playing well and thinking well, competing and cooperating, learning how to maintain an event that was too great to lose. Now it seems that our old playing field is one of many lost worlds. At the time, I felt it would last forever.

Broadcast by Joe Chaney on November 26, 2010 • WVPE's Audio Archive
Community • Customs & Rituals • Family & Friends • Sports & Recreation • Permalink • Printer Friendly
Google
WWW Michiana Chronicles

A random pick from more than 460 Michiana Chronicles -- refresh the browser to see another set:

April Lidinsky -- More essays by April

Joe Chaney -- The Haunted Fields / More essays by Joe

Ken Smith -- More essays by Ken

Jeanette Saddler Taylor -- More essays by Jeanette

Heather Curlee Novak -- More essays by Heather

David James -- More essays by David

Elizabeth Van Jacob -- More essays by Elizabeth

Jeff Nixa -- More essays by Jeff

Louise Collins -- More essays by Louise

Jonathan Nashel -- More essays by Jonathan