This column originally appeared in the June 9, 2001, issue of Arkansas Catholic.
When I think of summers growing up at our house, I think of opera and baseball, chili and floor wax, and fun with friends and neighbors.
My father loved both opera and baseball. We were often awakened on Saturday mornings by his favorite operas — almost always Italian, sometimes French, never German. Later in the day, the living room radio featured the Texaco Metropolitan Opera broadcast from New York. There was competition on television, however, in the form of baseball; which entertainment won out each week depended on the selection of sopranos and teams.
In the early 1900s, my grandfather had been known for “Sartain’s Chili,” a special concoction served at the soda fountain of his drug store in South Pittsburgh, Tenn. The story goes that he had been given the recipe by a man from Mexico who once worked for him, and my father later reconstructed the recipe to the best of his recollection. Pots full of chili were brewed at our house on Saturday mornings, then frozen in plastic containers for later consumption. You couldn’t help but notice it was chili day when you walked through the door.
Although I don’t know the recipe myself, I can tell you that it called for a special kind of red bean (specially ordered from either Iowa or Idaho, according to my mother), powdered cumin, and bottles of Mexene red chili powder (also specially ordered). Most clearly in my mind, however, is that the recipe began with cutting up slabs of white suet to be rendered on the stove; the resulting liquid grease was an essential ingredient of the chili. We would eat some of the “cracklins” left in the skillet, and occasionally mom would bake them in cornbread. Today nutritionists would probably ask, “What were you thinking?”
There were hardwood floors in our house, and we five kids, the dog and our skates did them no favors. Saturday afternoon was the time to clean the floors, and the heavy, oily smell of Johnson’s wax would linger for hours.
Summers were hot, but we had air conditioning. I was in and out of the house all day long, playing with the Broyles, Beards, Pates, Callicotts and Sterns. If we held the outside door open too long, my father would yell, “You’re letting out the BTUs!” — a reference to the air conditioning.
Bicycles gave us a certain freedom, but it was confined to our neighborhood — a school park around the corner, the shopping center a mile away, the woods that dotted our area before new houses were built and church, where I took my turn serving early Mass, weddings and funerals. I wore out several bikes growing up, exploring new places and visiting school friends out for the summer.
After supper there was softball or badminton with the neighbors in our backyard until dark, or maybe a game of horseshoes across the street, improvised with broad, heavy washers and open cans buried in the neighbors’ front yard. Across the street we also had a special kind of baseball, just for the guys, which called for a regular bat and red rubber ball; rules were as usual, except that to tag someone “out” you simply threw the ball at him as he ran to the next base.
Southerners know about chiggers, and summer nights our legs itched like crazy until they were soothed with cool rubbing alcohol or a hot bath before bed. I slept well every night.
I’ll admit that sometimes I got bored during the summer, watched too much TV and whined to my parents for something to do. I didn’t always like their suggestions, such as cutting the grass or reading a book. But there were always things to do, good things, and rules which for the most part kept me out of trouble.
With the end of the school year, kids all over Arkansas will be free for a few months. The older ones might have jobs, but all of them will have free time. It’s fascinating to me that some of the most popular forms of entertainment these days, especially those involving computers, are solo entertainments that do not engage a young person in honest-to-goodness human interaction. Even if computer entertainments develop skills and can be educational, there are hazards in such solitary play. Growing up should be “growing up with” friends and family, interacting in ways that strengthen character and teach the fundamentals of relationships.
I’ve been thinking about my childhood summers these past few weeks, and about the kids of Arkansas. Lord God, keep them safe, give them joy and laughter, and help them grow up in the company of loved ones and pets and friends. In fact, Lord, teach them how to be friends! May their young days be filled with sights, sounds and scents that stimulate their imaginations, strengthen their bodies, and touch their souls. May they be under the watchful eyes of grownups who playfully interact with them and nudge them down the right path.
It was fun growing up in our neighborhood, because we did it together.
Do you have an intention for Bishop Sartain’s prayer? If so, send it to him at Bishop Sartain’s Prayer List, Diocese of Little Rock, 2500 North Tyler St., P.O. Box 7239, Little Rock, AR 72217.