by Roy Hodge
My mother always kept good track of us when we were kids. There wasn’t much traffic on our street and she didn’t mind us playing in the street using the paved road for games of touch football in the fall, and our version of hockey without skates during the winter months.
Since we, along with our neighborhood friends, played outside most of the time, she gave us a free hand – but there were rules.
She didn’t want us to play too close to the corners of the street where the drivers might not see us right away. “Let me know if you are going off the street,” she said. “Stay out of the neighbors’ yards,” “Don’t be sassy to the neighbors,” and “Don’t do a lot of screaming,” she would tell us.
We owned the best yard on the street to play in. “Just keep your stuff picked up,” she would say.