NEIGHBORHOOD BOOBS

 

Living next to the woods had many advantages if you were an 11 or 12 year old guy in Lois Park.  To start off we built many forts, treehouses, underground forts, even a 7 story fort that accidentally burned down.   We could spy on anyone in several of our high tree houses.  One was so high we had a cable to get out fast if we needed to. I don’t recall we ever really had to except one time Billy Bannon accidentally shot Tom Selvaggio in the ass with a bb gun climbing behind (no pun).  Mostly the high fort came in handy for spotting Shep the farmers mean dog.  Schaborder’s Farm neighbored the woods with some chickens, milk cows, and a mean bull named Twister and some really good apple and peach tree orchards.

 

Most of us had dirt bikes by now and we made and or improved the trails running from Lois Avenue to the Egg Farm and all the way to Farms Road Circle where Kelley lived.  The woods were equipped with a creek that ran on one side, pond in the middle and drainage tunnels that went underground all the way under Cranbury Road and up to East Brunswick High School.  We could hide and or escape better than 007.  In some respects it was like a Zoo.  We would catch pretty much everything in the woods from frogs, box and paint turtles, salamanders, garden snakes, black snakes, water moccasins, a copperhead by accident, they are poisonous (we didn’t know then), chipmunks, squirrels, ground hogs, skunks, possums, owls, red robins, hawks, Cardinals, black and red Orioles, Blue Jays, Wrens, pheasants, wild turkeys,  and an occasional deer or two.  Come to think of it we could have done the Wild Kingdom Show that Mutual of Omaha did way back with Marlin Perkins.

      

On the other side of the woods was a Jewish Cemetery that you had to walk    down a path that was very dark as the trees were mature and blocking out most of the light.  The pine trees arched over the road.  The gates were eight foot high and made of iron as were the fences.  The pillars were brick and how we gained entrance. Although we would light fires in the tunnels and the forts nothing was as hot as watching some older guys feeling up their girlfriends at the Jewish Cemetery.   Normally we didn’t have any interest in a Jewish Cemetery but just the thought of seeing Leslies rack was worth the trip from any of our secret forts.  Now there were a few other girls in the hood that participated in this sexual exploration but none had the nipples Leslie did, nor did they seem to enjoy it as much.  So when Tom came running up my front steps all out of breath I knew it was Leslie on his mind.  Not just Leslie but topless Leslie.  Tom didn’t even have to tell me I knew from the look on his face.  We took off running behind my fence over the creek and through the woods.  We finally reached the dark tree tunnel leading to the front gates of the cemetery.  We had to move slowly since the road consisted of large grey pebbles and they were loud to run on.  They sounded like Rice Krispies magnified and even thought we couldn’t wait to see those ta tas, we knew better not to run on the pebbles so we kinda type roped on the curb.  Once we reached the gate we realize a couple more of our peeping Toms were following us and running on the road making way too much noise.  It was Dan Hansen and Bobbie Brown.   They must have been in one of the forts spying.  Tom had spotted Leslie and her guy walking down Lois Avenue so he suspected where they were headed.  Sure enough we had the jump on them.  We thought for sure they heard all that pebble noise but they must have been preoccupied kissing and holding hands.  Tom and I both disciplined Dan and Bobbie for being so loud they almost jinxed.  The front of the cemetery was just grass and trees so we climbed to the top of the pillars so we would have a good view but so they couldn’t see us easily because of all the tree branches.

 

Leslie and her boyfriend were laying on the grass kissing,,, a lot.  We knew from the sounds and moaning there were going to be a lotta hickies, and not just on the neck.  Although Leslie was 16 she was an early bloomer, her nipples were bouncing when she was 12 jump roping.  At 16 her nipples were just ripe and stood erect as if they were told to!  All I could think was how lucky her boyfriend was feeling and kissing that rack.  Just as that fantasy crossed my mind Bobby fell off the pillar onto a tree branch and snapped it.  We might as well sounded the fire alarm.  Bobbie was laughing and so was Dan.  We could see Leslie cover up and her boyfriend started running towards us.  We have to get out of Dodge.  I jumped from the top of the pillar and so did Tom and we headed for home as fast as we could.  As I was running I felt my converse high tops getting wet, did I go through any water, no I thought but then I saw it was blood seeping out the side.  I must have landed on a nail when I jumped off the pillar.  I didn’t feel anything but I was focused on getting out of there so maybe my mind was too occupied.  It was getting worse.  By the time I got home Tom had to lift me over the creek.  My PF Flyers looked red.  My Mom was washing the cut on the bottom of my foot with it with water and mercurachrome , when I noticed the top of my foot was bleeding too.  My Mom decided I needed to see Dr. Cryan so she called him and he said to come right up.  My Mom didn’t drive and my Dad was working so I had to walk a half mile.  Tom came with me and by the time we got to his house I was having a hard time walking so Tom got his skate board which made the trip a lot easier.  Even though I was bleeding most the way Tom and I spoke only of how hot Leslie rack is and we wish Bobbie didn’t spoil it. 

 

Finally we arrived at Dr. Cryan’s.  He took me right away and asked, “how did this happen?”  I couldn’t tell him the truth!  He’d squeal for sure so I said, “I fell on a nail building a new fort”.  That sounded plausible!  Dr. Cryan wasn’t known for his pleasant bedside manner.  While running a Q-tip soaked in medicine from the bottom of my foot to the top (trust me this hurt) he scolded me on learning a lesson…I thought if he only knew the real reason things could be a lot worse.  So he wrapped it up in some bandages and told me to “stay off it for 3 days and have my Mom change the wound every day”.  I agreed and he uttered, “And stay out of those woods.” 

 

I walked into the waiting room and there was Tom waiting by the fish tank.  First thing he says is” I heard you from here.”  I said, “you should have been in there.”   Even though my foot hurt for days, it was worth it.  The only lesson I learned was I couldn’t wait to feel Leslies rack or any rack that looked like Leslies or any rack.  Remember we were 12.  I don’t think Leslie knew it was Tom and I but every time I see the scar you know what I’m thinking!

The Willie Mays of Colonial Diner

I was never a huge baseball fan when growing up in East Brunswick. I played all through the farms league, little league and pony league but mostly because my friends all played and I wanted to be with them. I played first base because you got to handle the ball a lot and other than the pitcher and catcher other players may not get the ball the entire game. I was better than average but not by much. I was a decent batter which I liked as it felt like that’s where all the action was. I have to admit most of my friends like Gary, Tom, James and Larry were better players and definitely had more passion. I did enjoy the comradery especially all the trash talking on the field like, “no batter, no batter” or “this guy sucks”, “throw it by him”, “he couldn’t hit the side of the barn”, etc. All this name calling was encouraged by the coaches and parents. Today they’d call it bullying? I thought it was cool. It was almost like you were allowed to swear. No one really took it seriously. It was just all part of the game. Even when your side was up at bat your players would encourage you by yelling out how bad the pitcher was. So comments like “he’s lucky he can lob the ball and if he throws it any slower it will be moving backwards” were meant to cheer on your batter. Many of my friends Dads were the coaches: Dads like Mr. Selvaggio, Mr. Watson, Mr. Gibbard, Mr. Burnett, Mr. Young, Mr. Dietrick, Mr. Roth, and Mr. Moongie. Most of the Dads were good players like Mr. Selvaggio could really hit and Mr. Watson was a southpaw and was an awesome pitcher. And then there were Dads that were there to make sure their son got the opportunity to play. Mr. Roth definitely fell in this category. You could just tell by some of the things he’d shout out that he never played the game himself but he was there for every practice encouraging the team. He son, Stephen, was not what you’d call a skilled player. I think the expression “butter fingers” must have started with poor Stephen. It was pretty obvious that his Dad never played catch with him and he didn’t have any brothers. On top of that his Dad was a little embarrassing. I remember his instructions for Stephen to take the field was to “get there on there on the base, on there Stephen”. No one ever knew what that actually meant especially poor Stephen and many laughed or chuckled when he said that, including me. We all felt a little sorry for Stephen. John Pardie was on our team which helped kick up my interest in playing not so much because John was such a good player, even though he was, but his sister Marsha came to the games and I thought she was smoking hot. She had long brown hair that she’d wear in this high pony tail similar to the “I Dream of Jeanie Pony Tail”. I could hardly focus when she was at our game but I totally didn’t care. I’d play ball just because she was there. We played at a number of fields in and around our neighborhood, Lois Park. Fields like Central School, Memorial School, Welch Park, Birchwood Park and a field by Dave Choma and Carol Mickett’s house called Stratford Park if my memory serves me right. That was the closest field to Marsha Pardie’s house on Milltown Road. I’ll always remember that field not just because Marsha would attend our games there but I broke my arm on that field when I was put in as a relief pitcher for John Pardie. Matty Sarus (one of the biggest guys in school and a good athlete) was at bat with a Rocky Colavito Bat. Rocky played for the Cleveland Indians and had a lifetime batting average of 374. His bat had the largest head and skinniest handle imaginable. So here is Big Matty with his Colavito weapon up at bat with a runner on and no strikes. The catcher, Tom Selvaggio (one of my good friends) signals me to throw a fastball inside. Not knowing any better I serve up this pitch only to have it slammed directly back at me at what seemed to be 100 miles per hour. I tried to catch it but noticed the head of the bat was behind the ball and I couldn’t catch both. Needless to say the ball and the bat hit me and I fell to the ground in pain. Matty didn’t even run to first base but came out to the mound to see if I was alright. Ironically this was one of the few games my Dad attended and he too came out to see if I was OK. My best friend, Gary, was playing for the opposing team, the Amvets, and came off the bench to see if he could help but the Dad’s decided I needed to go to the hospital. So my Dad took me to Saint Peters in New Brunswick and the docs determined it was broken in 2 places and needed to be put in a cast. I was out for the entire summer. The Lackys Chrysler Team had to do without me. I still went to the games to cheer on my team but mostly hoping Marsha would be there. I don’t know how the Little League worked in East Brunswick because some years you were on the same team as you friends and some you weren’t. Gary,Tom and Larry seemed always to be on the same team and I was the odd man out with maybe being on the same team as them every other year. This one year we were all on the Colonial Diner Team (the power house of Central Jersey Little League). There seemed to be more coaches on that team than players including the Dad that ran the League, Mr. Moongie. Tom always played catcher and Gary honed in on Center Field because he was so fast and was the only one that could reach home plate from center field. Not to mention Willie Mays was his favorite player. Gary had an arm like a cannon and he knew it. He decided that between Tom’s ability to throw a dude trying to steal second out from his knees and Gary’s speed they could throw out a runner on second base before he knew what hit him. They would practice this ingenious play over and over again until they had perfection. Dudes that made it to second base were never safe taking a lead. If fact they were prey to Gary. There are actually three players involved in this scheme. The pitcher would never look back at the runner on second base he would take signals from the catcher, Tom. Tom would be eying Gary as he capriciously moved closer and closer to second base casually dropping his cap to signal Tom he was ready. That was the sign for Tom to signal Larry to pitch it now and outside so the batter couldn’t hit it. Tom could catch it and fire it into second base on the third base side all the while our player Gary is running like a Cheetah and dives to the spot Tom is throwing to so he can tag the runner out trying to get back to second base. Gary was so fast that even when other teams knew he was going to attempt it, they couldn’t stop him. Our Willie Mays know by all as Gary Watson was unstoppable. I never continued playing baseball in high school even though Gary, Tom, Larry and James did. I decided to pole vault but I could still watch them all play after I practiced vaulting. There weren’t a lot of guys watching freshman baseball but there was one with a 12 foot pole that kept watching.

THE GLORY DAYS

The Head Football Coach Mel Caseiro decided I needed to be motivated and made me second team on the Monday before our first game as seniors. Coach Pinfield gave me a heads up that morning in home room he whispered, "expect something different this week but don't worry about it." I never expected to be on the number two squad after all I was on the number one squad my entire junior year. I wanted to quit that day but Chris Carr and Danny Fyffe talked me out of it. To quote Chris, "They're just fucking with ya." I was second team the entire week of practice and it was getting harder to show up each day. In three years of playing football for EBHS I had never witnessed a player being second team on Friday that would be a starter on Saturday. My ego was completely deflated. What did I have to look forward to playing with the sophomores next week? I told Danny and Chris after practice on Friday I was history. I didn't take a shower I just went right home.

Danny called me about a half hour after I got home and said he'd be by to pick me up for the Friday night football meeting. I told him not to bother there was no way I was going to the meeting. He came by anyway in the old 48 ford. Danny tried to convince me to go to the meeting. I told him no way was I sitting in the back of the room (as it was protocol for varsity players to be in the front.) He told me he would sit in the back with me and if the coach didn't tell me I was starting tomorrow he would support me quitting. We sat quietly in the back the entire meeting watching the films of the previous year against Edison. I was so angry it may as well been cartoons we were watching. The JV team and sophomores were really confused. The varsity players and coaches always have a short meeting at the end of the regular meeting. I got up and bolted down the hill towards home. Fyffe informed the coach I quit and he could empty my locker. I could hear Mr. Caseiro yelling my name as I briskly walked down the hill. I didn't respond. I didn't turn around. I didn't flinch! I could hear his footsteps running towards me. Finally he caught up to me and put his had on my shoulder trying to turn me around (no pun). I grabbed his hand and threw it from my shoulder and told him to keep his fucking hands off me. He tried to explain his actions but he didn't have an audience. I was out of there.

By the time I got home the coach was already speaking to my parents on the phone. My dad told me the coach wanted to speak with me. I refused. I told my dad I didn't have anything to say to him. He relayed that to the coach and politely hung up. I hadn't said anything to my parents about being on the second squad this week so this was all news to them. My dad tried to convey the coaches position which was his intention was to motivate me because he thought I was never really motivated although I had excellent skills. In as curt a way as possible I responded with, "fuck him".

A few minutes later Danny and Chris were at the door. They came in and told me that the coach met with all the varsity players the week before and let them know what they intended to do in order to motivate me. They blackmailed them by saying if anyone told me they would be off the varsity squad. Both Chris and Danny told me they wanted to tell me all week but thought the coach was serious and didn't think he would carry it this far. Just then the phone rang and one of my sisters answered and told me it was Jay Doyle, the athletic director, for me. I had always much respect for Mr. Doyle both as the Athletic Director and the Wrestling Coach. I took the call and Jay told me he was unaware of the coaches play and didn't support it. He wanted me to consider the fact that grown men make mistakes and I shouldn't allow that to interfere with scholarship offers I had and would receive in the future. I told him I didn't want to play football I like wrestling much more and I already had scholarship offers. Jay realized I was too emotional to make any decisions that night so he respected my position and asked that we speak next week. I thanked him for the call.

I didn't play that Saturday and I was thankful the game was away. I lived so close to the high school I could hear the game if I were home. The next Monday I was called out of Humanities to see Jay Doyle. Jay was a great wrestling coach and a great guy. Mr Doyle was like having another father; a man of knowledge, of reason and a good sense of humor. He told me he had spoken at length to Mr. Caseiro and some of the other coaches regarding this tact to motivate me. Jay emphatically stated, "I want you to know three things Pat; most of the other coaches did not agree with this action, most all the varsity players objected as well, and finally I would have never agreed to it had I known previously. Knowing you personally I know you're not a rah rah kind of guy Pat. You don't need to be motivated by anyone other than yourself." Mr. Doyle was prepared for this meeting and gave me sound reasons to go back on the team; scholarship offers, not letting down my team, I could regret it later on, we all make mistakes even coaches. I trusted my interests were Jay Doyles interests and agreed to go back on the team. It wasn't a bad decision. Mr. Caseiro did apologise and I believe he was sincere. He was correct in that after our sophomore year I was never motivated playing football. I always expected someone else to be throwing me the ball and it was painful to be on the field without him.

A Little Christmas Story
When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the Pre-Christmas pressure.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where.

Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered.

Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.
When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drunk all the cider and hidden the liquor.
In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.

Just then the doorbell rang, and an irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, 'Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a lovely
day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?'

And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.

....Not a lot of people know this.

Lehigh's Summer Wrestling Camp

I met Carl Faith when I was in the sixth grade, Ms. Reilly's class. Carl was one of the wrestling coaches at East Brunswick High School. He came to Churchill Jr. High School towards the end of 1966 to put on a wrestling demonstration. I was there mostly because I was very tall and thin and thought wrestling could bulk me up. My dad said, "if I stood sideways he could spit through me." I thought wrestling could help me build muscles...and it did. East Brunswick was known for having a strong wrestling program. Some of the wrestlers Carl Faith brought with him were ledgends to me; Eddy Edwards, Lenny Cassidy, Carl Brown, Howie Titlebaum, Eddy Glassheim, Bobby Boig, Richie Flanagan to name a few. I grew up just a block from the high school and attended many wrestling matches before I was in High School. I had watched these guys wrestle for years.

Carl Faith is one of the most interesting and intense people I've ever known. He has a masters degree in History and German and he could speak, Russian, German, Latin, and Japanese. He was a world class weight lifter, a true leader and had a great sense of humor. He was the trainer for the football team and always kept beer in the refrigerator in the trainers room in a carton of "buttermilk". I guess he figured no one in their right mind would drink it...I suppose you could make a case that Danny Fyfe just might of had an "altered state of mind". From that day on during football practice Danny and I made excuses (cleat came off, etc.) to visit the "training room" for a taste!

In 1966 Carl Faith spoke these words, "if you do the things I ask you to do you will become a State Champ Wrestler," I lived, ate and breathed Carl Faith. I joined his weight training program and took his advise and went to Lehigh's Wrestling Camp that summer. I wasn't alone in this endeavor. My best friend, Gary Watson, had the same ambition and was going to camp as well. It was always easier to do something new with your best friend. It just somehow gave you more confidence, something we both could use considering the competition. Fellow graplers from East Brunswick were Kevin Dorian, Jim Chisholm, Glenn Pinfield, Keith Gucwa and Gary Gorham. The program was sponsored by Lehigh's wrestling coach Ted Lehman. Strongman "Mike Caruso" actually ran the clinic. I think this dude ate nails for breakfast. We were all impressed! Although my highlight was meeting a guest grapler named Dan Gable possibly the best wrestler ever from Iowa State. Dan Gable was the epitome of what hard work and dedication can produce. He is to wrestling what Michael Jordan is to basketball! He not only won the Olympics in 1972 but dominated the sport. If you were looking for a role model look no further...Dan Gable was mine.

The camp started on Sunday afternoon and ended the following Saturday. We were all housed at Dravo Dorms. Gary and I shared a room, Keith and Glenn share the room next to ours and Jim Chisholm was across the hall. Dorian and Gary Gorham were in a different wing B5. We were on C4. Sunday afternoon there was a welcoming meeting at Taylor Gym (now called the Athletic Center) where they explained the daily schedule (breakfast 6-7 at the UC Center, calisthenics from 7-9 starting with stretching and ending in climbing the ropes without the use of your feet, wrestling instruction from 9-noon with maybe one break and after lunch the afternoon was wrestling other campers in or around your weight class). Dinner was a little formal at Lehigh. You had to wear a jacket. You could have on cut off pants, sandals, and a t=shirt but you had to have a jacket on. This made for some interesting outfits to be sure!! We had to be back in the dorms by 10 PM and the wings all had adult proctors (hall monitors, RA's, parole officers, whatever you wanted to call them).

After the initiation meeting we all headed back to the dorms to Kevin and Gary's room to discuss how we were going to have some fun here. Kevin lit up a cigarette and Gary Gorham tossed the pack out the window onto the severely steep slate roof. Gary didn't see the point of going to wrestling camp if you were going to smoke. Kevin insisted Gary go out on the roof and retrieve his smokes but Gary took off running (for those that don't know the sizes here Kevin and Gary were Mutt and Jeff). We are on the fifth floor in a dorm that looks like a ancient stone castle and Kevin went out the window onto this black slate roof that was at least a 45 degree angle after his Marlboros. We tried to stop him but if you know Kevin, there is no stopping him. We all knew at that moment that Dorian was insane!

Of course by Monday we had completely scoped out Bethlehem and all the local spots. Kevin said in got into a topless bar on Wednesday and that we should all go tonight. We didn't believe him but we are 15 or 16 year old guys and the thought of seeing topless women was just overpowering. So we all walk down the hill to town following Kevin's every move. We arrive at a bar called "Smugglers" and Kevin gives the guy at the door some cash and we were all in! The drinking age was 21 and they served Kevin. Not the rest of us just Kevin, but he did share. We all thought we had died and gone to heaven watching women taking off their clothes...it was awesome. Remember it's 1966. Strippers didn't have G-strings more like bikinis but they did take their tops off. The time absolutely flew by watching one half naked woman after another. I looked at my watch and it was a quarter to ten. We had to get back to the dorms or we'd be thrown out. As hard as it was to leave and trust me it was HARD we all left except Kevin. He said he'd sneak back into the dorms. We tried to reason with him but he was too high on alcohol and racks. We left him and returned to the dorms. To this day I have never seen smiles on any ones face like the smiles we had that night and we had Kevin to thank for it. Speaking of Kevin about 2AM he returned to the dorms to find the doors locked. Just like an ol' movie he threw stones at our window on the fourth floor trying to wake us to help him. Gary and I got up and tried to go downstairs to help him but the proctor was sitting in a chair by the door. We went back to our room and told Kevin he was fucked. He slept on the stone entrance way that night but said the next morning "it was worth it." Talk about bonding we were tighter than thieves and Kevin was a an Icon.

SUMMER VACATION AT LAKE CHAPMAN

SUMMER VACATION AT LAKE CHAPMAN

Lake Chapman is a small lake about 15 miles north of Scranton Pennsylvania. My sisters, Jean and Colleen, and I visited the Lake in 2008 which was 44 years after we had stayed there on a family vacation. Believe it or not it hardly changed. There were a few more houses and indoor plumbing arrived but aside from that not much changed. Many of the roads were still dirt roads. There were lots of empty lots. The pace was extremely slow and the neighborhood was filled with families with small children. The lake was in walking distance from everyone’s house or cottage. It was like going back in time almost Twilight Zone like.

The Summer of 1963 my dad rented a vacation cottage at Lake Chapman. All of my dad’s sisters and his brother lived in Scranton and several had rented houses at the lake as well. My Aunt Ann and Uncle Frank owned a real log cabin at the lake. The cottage we rented was at the end of Jay Street nestled right next to the woods. Although the cottage was small we managed to sleep 6 children and 4 adults. I slept on a hammock on the porch! One of my dad’s best friends Jackie Gitch and his wife Dot stayed with us. They didn’t have any children but we had enough in our family to share. Mr. and Mrs. Gitch weren’t related to us but it didn’t stop us from calling them Uncle Jack and Aunt Dot. What the hell did we know we were just kids? My Uncle Jack was like a lumber jack. He was really big and lived in the woods by Lake Hopatcong. He had a pond with ducks and was a big game hunter. He had a knotty pine room with lots of rifles, hand guns and knives. There were heads of elk, deer, and moose on the walls. There was also a bearskin rug that Jack would tell everyone he fought and killed. He had scars on his chest he would show you to prove it. I believed that tale until age 17 when my dad told me the scars were from WWII and not a bear. Somehow telling me that didn’t change my opinion of Jack as a matter of fact it may have enhanced it. One of Jack’s talents was he could really draw well. He would be eating breakfast at the table and sketch pictures of Woody Wood Pecker, the Roadrunner and Coyote. Stuff like that…it was so cool. One day while walking back from the lake I asked Jack about his tattoos. He told me he got them when he was in the Navy. He asked me if I wanted one? I said sure but I didn’t think my dad would be OK with that. Jack said “trust me it will be ok.” So when we got back to the cottage Jack asked his wife, Dot, for a special pencil. Dot routed around in her purse and pulled out this pencil. Jack asked me what I wanted and where. He made some suggestions and I decided on a destroyer ship on my chest. It took a really long time and I had to be very still but finally he finished. I went and looked into the mirror and couldn’t believe how cool I looked. This was like Christmas Morning to me. I had a real tattoo of a ship on my chest…awesome! Jack was right too my dad thought it was just fine. As the week went on and the more and more I went into the lake the more faded the tattoo became but I didn’t care I still liked it.

I learned to drive that summer. My dad taught me on a car he bought for my cousin Robbie. It was a late 50’s French Peugeot. A four speed on the column. My dad said it I could drive this car I could drive anything. He wasn’t kidding but he did teach me and I could drive it. There was virtually no traffic there and all the roads were dirt so I really couldn’t do much damage. This was the best summer ever. I learned to drive and got a tattoo!!

Every day we all went swimming at the lake with my brother, sisters and 12 cousins and every night we had cook outs and my mom had her stereo on the porch blasting Irish and Scotch tunes to the neighborhood. Sometimes during the day we would all go and pick blackberries and raspberries in the fields and bring them back to my aunts, Agnes and Ellen. Those berries turned into pies in no time at all. I think Agnes and Ellen made pies every day! Wow was this the best summer or what?

Most of the people at the lake all seemed to know one another and if a mom or dad needed go home and get or do something other parents would offer to watch their kids. Parenting seemed to be a shared responsibility between other parents. Ironically when we went back for a visit in 2008 parents were still watching neighbors kids. I could hardly believe that sharing of responsibility exists today but it does at a small family lake in Pennsylvania, Lake Chapman.