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| My playground at Colonel Summers park- still standing for the next generation |
Hands down, the absolutely best thing about my childhood was Colonel Summers park, located a couple of blocks from my foster home. I woke early every summer morning and headed to the park by myself while the rest of the foster home still slept. As a 6 yr. old, I had staked a full-ownership claim of 'My Park.' No one was there more than me. I loved the playground and most especially, the wading pool that was open all summer long for free. To swim in the indoor pool located in the basement of my elementary school cost a dollar. To swim in the wading pool required nothing, not even a swim suit. (The wading pool was closed in the early 2000s due to concerns about health hazards. I'm surprised it took so long.)
One morning. long before anyone else showed up, I was swinging on the swings in the picture above. Oh, how I loved the silence of the empty playground! Just me, the squeaking of the chains and my legs pumping as hard as they could go. As I was enjoying my early sunrise work out, I spied out of the corner of my eye a man standing in the nearby archway where the bathrooms were located. His pants were down at his ankles and he was watching me while holding himself. I didn't know exactly what he was doing, but I knew enough the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I immediately dug my feet into the dirt and stopped the swing. I could hear the man calling out to me as I ran away as fast as my worn out tennis shoes could take me.
Hours later, after pondering the situation in my head, I decided to tell my foster mother Dorothy about the man at the park. I wasn't worried about the man hurting me, I had full confidence in my ability to outrun anyone who tried to mess with me. I was just curious about what he was doing. I wanted to talk to someone and she seemed as likely as anyone to be knowledgeable on the subject. I hadn't intended to get him into trouble, I just wanted to know.
As I told the story about the man at the park to Dorothy, I could see the color drain out of her face and her hands stopped kneading the dough on the kitchen counter in front of her. She listened while I explained that I wasn't doing nothing, that he just appeared out of nowhere and was watching me from the archway of the nearby shelter. After I finished, Dorothy announced no one in the house was allowed to go outside by themselves anymore. All of us children had to have a buddy with us at all times if we left the house. She didn't explain anything about the man, she just BOOM!, enacted a travel ban for everyone.
I was furious with her. Didn't I just say that I wasn't doing anything but swinging, the way I did every morning? I didn't do anything wrong, so why was I being punished? More than any other child in the foster home, I relied on my freedom to roam the neighborhood to keep me sane. Her clipping my wings was not at all what I was looking for. Once again I was reminded how stupid I was for trusting an adult. No good ever came from telling a secret to a grown-up.
After being blocked several times at the front door by Dorothy because I refused to find another child at the foster home to drag around with me while I made my neighborhood rounds, I decided I had had enough. It was time to show her that I wasn't going to put up with her silly rules that kept me chained to the house.
It was time to pull out the big guns of rebellion. I was going to run away. Of course I couldn't do that by myself. I would never leave my brother behind. If I was going, he was too. Ezra didn't seem to mind when I whispered we were leaving. He was 8 years old, two years older than me, but we both knew I was the boss. I stole food from the kitchen and packed my school backpack with my meager personal treasures. Foster kids don't own bedrooms full of stuff. Their lives fit into a suitcase, if they are lucky enough to have a suitcase. Ezra had his bag of treasures, and we invited Barney, another foster kid who was often my co-conspirator in adventure, to come with us. He happily joined us with his own backpack.
Barney was a good choice as a travel companion. He was my age and the toughest boy on the block. He ate live ants off the sidewalk with gusto and could climb trees with the best of them. We all affectionately called him "Barney Google, with the goo-goo-googly-eyes" because both of his eyes were lazy and tended to roam disjointedly in their sockets.
We set off in the afternoon with me in the lead. I was determined to never go back. Living in the foster home was one thing, but being shackled by an unfair dictatorship was a whole 'nuther thing. 1973 was an excellent year to run away. No one questioned three little kids with backpacks walking on their own. Back then it wasn't illegal to be on an adventure. Things went well until dusk, when my brother started complaining his feet hurt, he was tired and he wanted to watch tv. I tried to keep Ezra happy, but when Barney chimed in he was tired too, I realized things weren't going in my favor. I looked for a porch for us to sleep on. My plan was to sleep on covered porches and to keep moving. To where, I had no idea.
Ezra refused to sleep anywhere but a bed. He wanted his tv, and he wanted it now. After his third temper-tantrum, I gave up. It was well after dark when we straggled our way back to our street. I knew I was in trouble when I saw the flashing police car lights blocking the street in front of the foster home. Crowds of people from the neighborhood surrounded Dorothy, who was red-eyed and tear-streaked. When she saw us, she grabbed Barney and Ezra and pulled them into her bosom. "Where were you? What were you thinking, running away like that?" The questions came fast and furious from Dorothy and then the police. Both Barney and Ezra pinned the blame squarely where it belonged, on me.
I was proudly defiant. I told the police I ran away because Dorothy wouldn't let me play outside by myself. After I answered their questions, all three of us were sent straight to bed since it was very late. In the morning I prepared myself for the spanking of my life. I knew it had to be coming, but I didn't care. It was a matter of principle. Amazingly, other than being grounded for an indeterminate time, no other punishment came. By the time I was ungrounded, the rule about having a buddy outside was long forgotten and I was free to once again roam the streets of Portland, Oregon at my will.
It was so worth it.
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