Halloween...

We had a successful All Hallow's Eve and day here in DC (2008.) My boys, Will and Pete, brought in quite the load... so much candy (alot of it chocolate, not just hard candies)... it will be around for several weeks... probably lasting right up to Thanksgiving... which will be just in time for the next load of trans-fats.

Will and Pete were both dressed as Batman... its what they wanted. They and 4 of their friends roamed together with us parents walking along, nearby. We are all "helicopter" parents... meaning we always closely hover -- watching, protecting, intertmingling in their lives.

Our neighborhood, in Northwest DC, is full of children and the streets this year were packed with kiddies running from door to door collecting their treats... many of the parents dress up, too. Families sit outside on their lawns with drinks and snacks... waving and talking to those going door to door... frankly, a lot like Election Day at my home on Third Street in Grenada... that was always our biggest and busiest "Holiday," in the Strider household.

But, Halloween... Grenada...



Halloweens were something else in Grenada... does anyone remember Shanebergs (it was a store in the Grady Green Shopping Center.) When I was a pre-schooler and maybe into elementary school that's where mamma would take me for getting a costume... Ms. Bonnie Carroll (Ramie's grandma and the wife of Grady Carroll who was a deputy sheriff) worked there... near the back if I remember right.

It seems like I chose to be a skeleton more often than not.

Trick or Treating in downtown Grenada (in the 70's) would start, for me, down Kershaw Street to Donna Tartt's home (Donna is now one of our nation's finest novelist with "The Secret History" and "Little Friend" under her hat and another book on the way) and then to Cas Heath's... The Heath home -- a huge, brooding Victorian structure -- had 3 generations of Cas' living in it... Cas I, Cas II and Cas III (my age)... Cas I had been the proprietor of Heath Brothers Fine Clothing on the square (later Hankins and Penn) and Cas II was with the Grenada Banking System. Little Cas (my age) is now a doctor. They'd always have kool-aid on the front porch... I often spilled mine and cried.

We'd work our way up to Main Street... the Spains and Lillys (where the Dattels later lived), Ms. Angevine and the Hardys... then back down 3rd stopping at the Gulledges (my first grade teacher) and the Haltoms... once we'd worked that area my mom would drive me out to the Jones Road area to join my cousins (Vicki, Melanie and Keith Mitchell). This neighborhood was loaded with kids and we would work the area diligently -- it was like a job, a good job.

There were no hovering, "helicopter" parents back then. They'd stay in the house, drinking coffee and visiting -- they didn't even sit out on the lawns and watch the passersby -- we were left to figure things out on our own... I wonder if its fear for security that has us hovering today... or just changing demographics and how we do things, how we see raising kids that's different?

I learned a lot roaming Grenada on those nights... and I had a lot of fun.

*That's a photo of Will and Pete I snapped this past Friday night (Oct. 31, 2008) outside our home in DC... somewhere in my mom's photo collection is a picture of me on the Heath front porch crying because I spilled my kool-aid.

“Comets Make Me Vomit” and Other Things I Learned in Little League (1970’s Grenada, MS Style) That My Sons Don't Learn in Today’s DC Soccer League

Little League Baseball in Grenada, MS, 1970’s:

Baseball ruled in little league sports back in Grenada of the 1970’s. Once a year we all showed up at the high school stadium for the “Punt, Pass and Kick” competition but in little league it was baseball.

Coach Wayne Carson ran the little league program for years and years. We sold Drix as the annual fundraiser for the little league… Drix was some kind of cleaning detergent and every household in Grenada would have several bottles due to the salesmanship of the town’s first graders.

The season always kicked off with a hotdog supper at the ball field. I believe each hot dog was a dime. The bleachers would be full of hot dog eating kids with ketchup stained shirts and mouths.
I was on the Cubs and we were sponsored by Piggly Wiggly… it was right there on the back of our black with white sleeved t-shirts.

This wasn’t T-ball. We had pitchers, played a full 7 innings with no maximum run rules. So, the score might end up being 32 – 28 and none of us first graders ever really hit the ball… four balls and a walk… over and over and over.

Our coaches were a few years older… junior high guys. And I will not name any coaches in order to protect any who may be innocent of what I’m about to say. These guys were out for blood. They wanted to win. They’d throw score books in the dugout, fight with the umpire and encourage us to lean into the ball… as in lean in and get hit and take a base!

I always wanted to be a coach after that.

Our parents and siblings would all attend. We played mainly on the baseball field between the high school football field and Jones Road. Today, the massive Grenada High School Band Hall sits where this legendary field of dreams once belonged.

In reality, I didn’t care much for playing. It was so bad that my parents had to promise me a hamburger and fries after each game to make me participate. After every game we’d head over to a restaurant called Rudolph’s just down from the Monte Cristo on highway 51.

But in the rear view mirror these games were the stuff of legend. We’d play teams like the Comets. Stephen Cox was their star pitcher… it’s easy to remember because he was so tall, even then.

We’d sit in the dugout chanting “Comets make me vomit.” We’d hustle onto the field and with each batter chant “nanananananananana swing!!!” And this would go on for 7 innings while each player walked.

Our parents would yell and cheer. Dean Morgan’s dad, Jerry, would always lean on the fence near where we would warm up in the batter’s box. He’d smile and offer advice… “keep your eye on the ball… swing level… don’t listen to the hind catcher.” It was important to not listen to the hind catcher because he’d be telling each batter how terrible there were.

We practiced every Saturday morning. We kept score, maintained the win-loss record and had season champions. We competed.

Little League Soccer, Washington, DC, 2008:

This past Saturday my first grader played in his third soccer game of his first season of league play. He plays on the Cougars from Murch School. They were playing the Power Rangers… school unknown (to me, anyway.)

He has a wonderful coach who is always very happy. It’s a cheerful sort of endeavor.

They play an hour, no one really keeps score and there is no accounting of wins and losses.

I’m inclined to scream “hit somebody” at various stressful moments of the game. I do know hitting is discouraged in soccer, but it just comes out. When I scream the other parents will look at me. The coach will look at me.

In fact, it’s been shared with me that yelling and cheering at little league soccer is largely discouraged. The young co-ed team is focused on developing their motor skills and concentration skills… this is the logic, I think.

I’d hate to see Jerry Morgan or Ray Carroll told they shouldn’t get loud during a game.

There are snacks after each game… parents take turns and its usually a juice box, some fruit and some kind of organic cracker or cookie. No hamburgers and fries from Rudolph’s.

I’m often reminded of Gaylord’s “wall of mediocrity” in the movie “Meet the Fockers” when I’m at soccer games… it just seems so sterile.

My son, though, has a blast. And it’s not just because he’s the best player on the team… one of the best in the league based on my observations.

He loves playing… we have not had to bribe him with a hamburger. His best friend on the team is Ava. There were no Ava’s on the Cubs… but Ava is a mighty fine athlete and contributes more than most.

I’d just like to see some score keeping and win – loss columns… some coaches out to win… some parents getting down right serious… some players rallying with chants on the sidelines…

Hell, I’d settle for a good Drix fundraising campaign and a 10 cent hotdog.

But here’s the truth… my boys have great opportunities in sports… and, all joking aside, I’m sure allowing them to focus on their skills and concentration is a very good thing… I’m even sure the coach is onto something by being so happy…

But I really like yelling “just hit someone” every once in a while… yes, I know its soccer.

And I wish my sons could have experienced my little league…

(Note: That's Will and Ava and my younger son, Pete, in the photo)