Jul. 20, 2002 - 18:44 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Come In

I guess it was when I was just early on in my first stage of awareness that I would be allowed to play outside alone. Of course I had to live up to the, "Don't go out of the yard Douggie," instructions. I guess it started about then, when hearing the two words together so often I really thought my name was Douglas Don't.

During that stage of life they would let me play outside from late afternoon until supper time, the the call to come in to supper would be in my ears. I soon learned that it was good to heed the first call. It was later that I learned to scam a bit with, "I didn't hear you call," and other excuses.

After supper I could play. Our house was very small and of necessity, needed pieces of furniture were close together. It was an ideal setting for this little boy to play with his Tootsie Cars and other small toys while living in a Make Believe world of my own design. It was good.

Special nights were the nights that Dad would read poetry to Mom and I. One of the books he read from was, I think Longfellow's poetry, I do remember that Hiawatha was in that book anyway. Dad and how he used his voice while reading poetry would draw me in to the very core of the poem. He had a good voice, a very expressive one and a keen sense of poetic rhythm. Those times were treasures to me like as to lustrous pearls set in the embrace of gold.

Even today when I run into a poem Dad used to read us, his voice sounds in my head as I scan the printed words.

Special times were when company would visit us. Often my bedtime was overlooked and my evening playtime evening seemed to stretch far ahead into an indefinite, tenous bedtime.

I remember the joy I had living those daring, exciting imaginary deeds in my own private world of home. Playing, playing and like a windup toy winding down begining to think that it would be fun for me to lay on the floor and bring my eyes as near to a minature person's eye-level as I could and see things as one of them would perceive them (started fooling myself pretty early in life). So, I would lay on the floor managing my imaginary world, making my own traffic rules and setting up my own town of crayoned, cut out, little cardboard boxes arranged in a strange way that made sense to me. I went into that small almost microscopic world and could hear the motors of the cars and the greetings given to fathers as they came home from work. It was so real to me and seemed to become more so as the evening wore on.

Then as the sounds of my town grew quiet I remember riding the waves with my head on Dad's shoulder and making landfall in my comfortable bed. I dimly remember being tucked in and the room going dark, me being to tired and sleepy to fuss.

I remember the wonderful sense of independence I had playing outdoors in the summertime in my own yard (a place vast beyond knowledge, a whole world in its own). Then as I grew and learned to strive for the impossible I began to push the envelope on bedtime. Fighting to stay awake 'til the last dog dying minute. As I grew older Mom and Dad would move bedtime to a later hour according to my age and evidenced habit of responsibility, but never soon enough to suit me. I would still be pushing the envelope to its very edges. I didn't want to be hemmed in, that was for sure. I did know how far to push too, and often would head for bed pushed by a growl from Dad.

Then, like every kid playing outdoors in the summer would come the inevitable call, "Douggie its time to Come In" . . . . . . . .

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