A Time We Slept Outside

March 10, 2010

It was too long ago, but at this point I can’t remember if in fact this was actually the first time we slept outside. I’ll have to ask mmy siblings for confirmation on this being fact or knot. I also can’t recall if it was ‘just for men’ or if sis attended.

Although dear sis certainly was a part of our everyday trio with almost anything the bro’s did as tiny tots, including having a General’s turn in many of our baby army plots in the back yard, this sleepover and out may have not been one of those times. MMy mminds eye is blurred at this point by the years of clears gone.

I can tell you that our tiny trio went so far as a first singing group of ‘The Three Singing Bears,’ by the age of infancy. We entertained family gatherings with our one cute song repeated any number of times by request or not. The trio performed with sometimes little or a lot of embarrassment depending on when asked or forced to due sow. “Come on kids sing The Three Bears song for us.”

One never knows those too hot inside summers when mom gave us permission to sleep out in our own back yard or not. For some reason I really doubt this first until the time of confirmation; let’s say this particular time was not the very first.

I also can’t remember his last name but the location was Wayne’s backyard. Wayne’s families house was a half block from ours. It was on the corner of our main street and another smaller street that ran perpendicular to it. On the opposite corner was a one story, narrow, long building; a neighborhood bar.

The bar was owned and named after the original owners who had sold it a few years after mmy cognizance abilities came into focus to remember such things. The new family who lived upstairs from us purchased it but left the original name intact. It’s possible that painting one name out and repainting the new one in made a difference. The new owner’s name might have something to do with it.

Owning a bar and calling it Stone’s may not have been a good introduction to what was actually going on inside. That was tests of stacks and stacks of stocked inebriation receptacles bandied about. That’s neither here nor there. Repainting never happened for whatever reasons; hence the name always stayed the same.

What did matter about that bar though was when we slept outside and across the street from it. Needless to say, a bar is a bar; which means to say that any number of interesting individuals will be not only passing through and into its well stocked environs but also and most probably during the long happy hours of the many unscrewing or uncorking parties, they’d also be passing out or pissing on something outside of it. This old bar was a similar institution of drank.

Beer on tap was well tapped out, only to be re: tapped or replenished I’d imagine by the hour. This activity went the same and opposite ways during the uncorking and recorking of any size, shape, colour or liquid ingredients available for the singular purpose of individual indulgences. Whoever had the core wrecked change in order to go as far as a wont to reach their own nirvana, did.

Of course, the percentage of alcoholic contents varied in any and all cases of empty bottles, cans or jugs. This information became very evident if one may suggest, before imbibing, a reading of any particular label. After imbibing is not recommended to reading anything let alone the small print on any bottles label; especially in the lowest lights usually made available in these kinds of joyful liquid enterprises. One would need to bring a few candles. Don’t forget matches.

This doesn’t include larger silver metal barrels of convenience left in most basements that were attached by long tubes consistent patrons would have rather been attached to intravenously. Unfortunately for them, no bar persons took those tests, or had any medicinal qualifications; or more specifically was the equipment for such operations made readily available without prescriptions.

At any rate, mom finally gave us permission for the little camping trip that had nothing to do with camping. As you can imagine, back in those days the times were much simpler. Humanity wasn’t even close to being attuned to Amber Alerts as they are in these times; unfortunately so for today’s tethered tiny tykes.

Without a doubt those kinds of things probably did occur but one may venture to guess that they didn’t in the quantity we may hear about in these many years later. Times change. If indeed that WAS the case, then I’mm sure this story wouldn’t be written nor have occurred in the first place. Regrettable for later generations some may say but perhaps it’s also a big price we pay; for progress?

I can still see Wayne’s face but having not seen his mom probably more than once I can’t remember hers, nor his dad’s for that matter. They had to be aware of our little jaunt in their jungle but we saw neither hide nor hair of them during that whole experience. Unless hidden somewhere, apparently none were scene.

Although we did see plenty of adults as they ventured to and out of the bar. Not many specimens of humanity walked past us in both directions on Wayne’s side of the street. A few did take quick looks but none bothered to bother us. For that we didn’t care either way. We just hoped our parents wouldn’t come checking.

We had our own thoughts of adventure while not really trying to fall asleep anyway. I can remember us playing tag in almost dark. The bars’ neon red lights as well as the intermittent dull street lights were lighter than we cared for as far as needing dark was concerned. We were told, ‘not to go gallivanting around,’ during this exciting escapade. Wayne’s back yard was our play pen so to speak.

Wayne’s enclosure had a long line of short hedges or bushes that ran along the street side facing the bar; not very well kept but still were a good enough barrier separating the wide slate gray and uneven sidewalks from the rough divot lawn.

There also was a huge, many branch, red rose bush growing up against a wall of his house that looked like a famished octopus lying on the ground with its many bare tentacles’ reaching skyward. No one seemed to be taking care or watering it.

I tried hiding behind and underneath that once until its sticky thorns and see through twiggy twigs told mme that wasn’t a good idea. Ouch! Seconds later, I scurried and tried for another, quicker cover behind a few metal garbage cans.

As Wayne’s count was reaching the end, I ran over to the trashed cans way too fast. In the semi-dark I tripped on one of those lawn divots and dove headfirst against the metal garbage cans. They noisily rattled a metal alarm for the ‘seeker’ to easily find this non-hiding hider. Naturally, while rubbing frantically the little knot on mmy head I was next to be, ‘IT’. One; One, two, three; threeee, fourrrrr…

I can’t recall spending any time sleeping during that in tired night. Although I can still see the exact landscape of Wayne’s back yard; as well as many parts of our immediate growing up surroundings. Our beds that night were the many coloured blankets, white sheets and pillows with green grass stained covers that used to be white. Lucky for us we were given bedding that could get that way without having to face a fate worse than death for treating them otherwise.

Wee little tykes spent most of the time playing, making up games, talking as fast as many wee little tykes do while running around the small yard in an excited freedom of the night that didn’t happen often enough for our carefree lifestyles.

Still, when recalling that one specific and unforgettable experience, I guess it must have been a time that at that time like many times, we’d never imagine we’d remember in future. Since then, the dawns and sunsets seemed to have ascended and descended faster than the speediest roller coaster in life’s too short dream ride. I’mm glad to have been given a ticket and to have scene most of it.