Growing Up in the 80s as a Dirt Bike, Garden Hose Kid

Here’s a 50% off coupon so you can sponsor me and help keep me going! Thanks in advance!We wore dingy white shoes with three blue stripes. The tread left marks in the sand like stars and planets and rocket ships. I don't recall the brand.Brands didn't matter so much back then. We got our shoes at random stores. They came in orange boxes. You had to put your stocking feet in a gross metal tray to get your size. When you got new shoes, it made you run faster. You had to put on both of the new shoes to try them out because if you only put on one you'd run in a circle.“Is your toe banging into the end?”“No, they're perfect.”“Is there room to grow?”“Mom!”Then we'd put our old shoes in the orange box and wear the new ones home. We kept the old shoes for river trips. Eventually mice would move in and they'd get thrown away.“But those shoes are still good!”“Then you clean them.”We wore blue jeans, T shirts and baseball caps.We rode around on dirt bikes. The bikes sometimes came with plastic sparkling tassels that extended from the handlebars. We usually ripped those out, but not all the kids.“Shut up, they look cool. They look like the universe.”We didn't have streaming services. Sometimes we'd just watch the light flicker on the handlebar tassels. They projected dancing streaks of light into the shadows.Our bikes had no water bottles. We'd ride in the hot sun until we were parched, and then we'd look for a garden hose. The law of the land was that all garden hoses were free for kids to use. But we would discover that not all adults abided by this rule.We went up and down dirt roads kicking up clouds of dust. We played in gravel pits. One time, while riding with my cousin, we stopped next to a rusty dump truck. The back end was buried in chest high grass.The grass was too wild for us to pass. We had to climb around the edge of the truck. So, we slammed our dirt bikes to the ground with all our force. Then we climbed onto the bed, finding nooks and crannies to balance on the ledge.As I neared the back of the truck, I disturbed a bee hive. The bees erupted in attack formation. I remembered that parents and teachers and uncles and cousins had told me to freeze, so I froze.The bees came at me. I held perfectly still.One slammed into my arm and stung me with all the fury of its little form. I flashed my cousin a look of panic and waved him back. He was prone to objecting when I gave orders, but the look in my eye cut off any protests. He turned and fled.We had to go along the edge, the chest high grass remained impassible. Who knew what was down there?I scrambled far enough along until I could leap to the clearing and regain my bike. Then the two of us were off in a cloud of dust that disoriented our winged pursuers.“Did you get stung?”“Yes, did you?”“No.”“Lucky.”In that moment, I realized that panic makes people obey. There had been no need to formulate an argument to justify a retreat. He'd seen the truth in my gaze and responded as if our minds were in sync.Cool.There are moments of shared consciousness that pass between young boys who are out exploring. These are moments of understanding. We recognize when we should take things seriously, and learn to trust each other's instincts.Developing that connection, I think, was the reason we were called to go out on adventures. We had to cultivate our trust in our non-verbal communication because we knew we were surrounded by enemies. Many of those enemies pursued us at home, school, and town.Parents, relatives, older siblings and strangers were untrustworthy. We knew we had to rely on each other.My friends back then were left to do what they wished during the summer months. We would get on bikes and ride great distances to meet up. We'd agree on meeting places out on the road because we didn't have cell phones. All our electronics were rudimentary in many ways compared to what we have today.I remember the first time I saw a solar powered calculator. I was amazed as I typed in 3704558 and flipped it over.We traversed country roads alone until we saw our friends in the distance. I remember the delight I felt when they began to wave. I didn't even recognize I'd lifted my arm to return the gesture.Together, we road to the Wagon Bridge for swimming. It was an abandoned structure without traffic where all the local kids would come to play.We'd hang on the bars in the shadows and let our bodies dangle into the water. The tourists renting tubes would come through to finish their trips. The water was always warm on a summer day. We dove from the bridge, aiming for the dark section where the water ran deep. If you missed, the sand would give.The hours drifted past like the current. We did our best not to get into trouble or attract trouble or attract attention. As the sun began to set, we'd recover our bikes and ride with care down the dangerous county roads.What few young men remained occupied themselves with drinking, and our parents admonished us not to get killed. We knew we'd get screamed at if we allowed a drunk driver to crash into us. We were more afraid of our parents than the danger of the vehicles.At dusk, when cars approached we crossed to the other side, or dove into the ditch so we wouldn't present as a potential target.The awareness kept us safe on the roads and in the halls of school and at home. We kept our heads on a swivel because so many people in our community were as inclined to kill as leave us well enough alone.On the days when we didn't have energy to ride or to swim, we'd play video games. This was the era of the original Atari. The machine was a clunky box that barely worked. You'd turn it on and the television would take a moment to warm up. Then the game would come to life. Half the time, you had to wrestle with the controllers, and they'd stop working. You'd push them with all your might to get your man, we didn't call it an “avatar,” we called it a man, across the screen.“I'm dead.”Most of the time, those games ended in frustration. The cartridges were so expensive. Kids would show them off at school and they'd get stolen. I never had a Nintendo myself. I had an Atari 7800 because it played all the 2600 games. So when people were fed up with their old games, I could get them without having to pay.“I'll trade for that cartridge.”“What do you have?”“A marble.”“Okay.”Money is never easy to come by. We lived too far away from anything to have a lemonade stand. Sometimes you'd see sad kids sitting miserably on a crate in the middle of nowhere hoping for a miracle that never came.I lived on a farm, so there was always work. Most of the time, my dad demanded that work was “chores” and therefore unpaid. But there were times that I could convince him to give me an hourly wage. Unlike other kids, I was lucky that way.Summer days seemed to go on forever, but I remember when the calendar turned from August to September, that was the end of swimming. The water seemed to freeze overnight, and the leaves all erupted into blazing color.That's what I remember.Our activities changed when school began. I remember my friends. They became more and more important as we grew older, dangerously so, because we had grown to trust them. We didn't notice their slow transformation into the indifferent men that would have seen us on our bikes and chortled as they ran us down. Not all, but some.Evolution as undetectable as growth. Or, in this case, regression.We'd do sleepovers on most weekends. We'd visit. We'd share our stories. We'd go out and camp. We camped during winter. We camped even when the ground was frozen and the world was covered in snow.We got farther and farther away from the authority that wielded such influence over our lives. We stretched the band that held us home in the hope that it would snap. Then didn't know what to do when it did.We made sense of the things that were in our world and seemed to fly beneath the awareness of our peers, and we helped each other through our mutual state of fear. We held each other up even as we held each other back. I'm not sure we were fully aware of what we really intended. Our fate was to react.“Get back! There are bees!”These days, my own kids spend much more time with me. It's a different kind of life they lead.Sometimes, I worry they're missing out by not roaming free. But I won't have them avoiding an onrushing car by diving into the trees.They're too precious to me. So, I make the home welcome. I don't criticize. I don't yell. I've tried to remove any incentive to leave. They don't have to look to their friends for answers. They have me. But I encourage them to ask their friends anyway.“Have a sleepover. Go to the game! Have fun! Create memories.”And they do, but it is different now. The world is more complex, for better and for worse.There are times I miss the simplicity of the life I used to lead. But, ultimately, I wouldn't trade what I have now for the memory of time gone by. I still find delight in mystery. I still seek out allies who help me face the buzzing swarms of my anxieties. But I think the barrier between the world of children and the world of adults has begun to fade.Or maybe it's just that part of the child I used to be managed to survive. It still feels like me as I look out through these aging eyes. Even today, I ride my bike great distances. But now when I do so, it's with my daughter by my side.I trust her implicitly.She fills my heart with joy and love and pride.You all make this newsletter happen! Thanks for your sponsorship! I have payment tiers starting at as little as twenty dollars a year.Upgrade at 30% offUpgrade at 40% offUpgrade at 50% offUpgrade at 60% offI'm so happy you're here, and I'm looking forward to sharing more thoughts with you tomorrow.My CoSchedule referral linkHere’s my referral link to my preferred headline analyzer tool. If you sign up through this, it’s another way to support this newsletter (thank you).I'd Rather Be Writing is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to I'd Rather Be Writing at walterrhein.substack.com/subscribe