childhood

Summer

bill fryman, , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Summer seems to be rapidly approaching. While one expects showers in April, it seems that this year they are interspersed with days nearing the 90’s. This seems a bit unusual to me but maybe that is only because of childhood memories.

Growing up in a small grain-farming community, I remember summer always beginning in mid-May. This wasn’t because of a date on the calendar or because of a meteorological event but instead because it was the end of the school year. For a few weeks, we no longer needed to worry about lessons or exams but could instead spend our days playing with friends and neighbors. Important things were whether our bicycles had flat tires, or which sandbox we would use, or who we would visit.

In the evenings we might sit on the porch with our parents or grandparents listening to a baseball game on the radio or play in the yard while the “old folks” did that. We also helped in the garden since fresh produce was a part of life. On really special evenings we might have a treat like homemade ice cream over a fresh baked pie. Because our town was so small we didn’t have some of the things that “city kids” could enjoy, like swimming pools or large parks and playgrounds, but summer was still a fun time.

That changed a bit when I was about eleven or twelve and started mowing yards to earn a bit of “spending” money. The time for “kids” play was a bit less but it was still summer, and school was still not important, at least for those few weeks between the school years.

Things changed even more by my mid-teens when summers meant getting a job. In a small town like my home there were few opportunities and most summer work was on the local farms. The two busiest times were right after the school year ended and, unfortunately, a few weeks after the next school year began. Like others, I spent parts of many summers working on the farms – preparing fields for planting, helping plant crops, and other tasks. There were many long days in the hot sun (no air-conditioned tractors in those days) or doing other work. This even continued through my college years.

Even though the summer days seem much hotter now, summer is still a nice season, but I enjoy spring and fall, or autumn, much more. I hope you have good memories of the summers of your youth and enjoy them now and in the future.

Donuts or Doughnuts, if you prefer

bill fryman, , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

When we hear about doughnuts today most of us probably think of the sweet treats sold at stores like Dunkin’ D, or maybe DD, or even at our local grocery in the bakery section. They are sold singly, or by the dozen, with so many toppings you often feel that you often have more frostings or stuffings than you have actual doughnut. Many only have them with coffee or hot tea.

But these are not the donuts that I’m talking about. My donuts are those made on occasion by my late paternal grandmother many years ago. My grandmother, Martha Jane Truitt Fryman, passed away in 1962 when I was ten years old. We lived next door to my grandfather and her for about seven or eight of my young years and she babysat for me when my parents weren’t home. Even so, my memories of her are quite few.

Two of the fondest and most clear were that if I wasn’t a good boy (fat chance) she would get out her black belt and use it on me and the donuts she made a few times each year. She never needed that black belt. In truth I never saw it as often as I searched. The threat was enough to keep me in line.

But the donuts were different, and I loved them each time. Even though I was young and had no interest in cooking or being in the kitchen, when donuts were fixed, I watched and waited intently. Even today, I often wonder if the method has been lost to our demand for convenience and sweetness.

The recipe was simple. One opened a can of simple biscuits from the local store. Each biscuit was stretched in to bit larger circle and then the thumb or a finger was used to make a hole in the center. They were then deep-fried in a large pot of hot lard (never cooking oil or butter) until they were browned. Then the browned donuts were dropped in a brown, paper grocery sack which held a mixture of sugar and cinnamon, the only coating ever used. The sack was shaken quite well giving the donut a slightly sweet coating, all that was needed. The finished donuts were then placed on a plate to cool.

For me as a child the cooling took far too long, but the one donut treat I received was always a great reward for the wait. I always remember that the fresh donuts never came often enough but the memory of them sounds great even today.

Why she made these donuts, so good, I never knew. I suspect they were for my grandfather to have with his lunch when working on the nearby rice farms. I’m sure they were much appreciated in those days when farm work was largely manual, not mechanized, and summer temperatures were high.

I wish that I could have told my grandmother how much these donuts meant to me, how hard it was to wait for the next batch, and how I remember them so many days later. Perhaps she can look down on me from her final home and see this short memory of things so simple yet so wonderful.

Hopes and Fears for Christmas Yet to Come

bill fryman, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

As I lay in bed this morning, wide awake far to early, I was visited not be the ghost of Jacob Marley nor of one of Dickens’ spirits but instead by one of our cats. Usually, he lies beside me in the bed, my wife says from love while I say to keep warm. In this case, I was snuggled next to my wife and he decided to lay on top of me and stare at the two of us. Could he be jealous or can cats even have such human feelings. After a short time, he left to do other more important things like using his litter box, having a drink, and making sure his food bowl was empty. One wonders what goes on in the mind of a small, furry creature like this and why they can become such an important part of our lives.

As you my have noticed, I again borrowed a part of the name of a Dickens’ spirit again today. I thought this appropriate since Dickens inspired both this and the previous two posts. When I think about Christmas, I feel the need to look at it not just from the way it is today, or even when I was a child or when Dickens published “A Christmas Carol” just over two hundred years ago, but also what Christmas in the future. The present and the past seem easy to consider but the days yet to come present a much greater challenge. There are hopes for things good and fears of things that may be bad. While I may be here for part of the future, it goes far beyond that time and many changes can and will occur.

When we think about the meaning of Christmas, we must recognize that it is a religious holiday. While it serves the Christian faith, does not have the same meaning to others who also have religious or cultural observances like Hannukah and Kwanza. Yet even these others, even those who profess no faith, often celebrate Christmas with us.

Family – As families and friends, Christmas has served draw us together and make us closer. A time of celebration and a time to put differences aside. Yet today, there are those – editors, opinion columnists, broadcast media, celebrities, and others – who would like to use Christmas as a time to drive wedges between us. They do this not for the benefit of anyone other than themselves; to create an elite class which uses others only to serve them and comply with the views and beliefs. If we allow these “elite” to succeed, then the need for the familial unit will disappear. As suggested by some of these “elites” we should cancel holidays because they allow or even encourage sharing amongst those with differing views. This is a great fear for me.

At the same time, I have great hope for Christmas Yet to Come. Why do I say this? It is very simple. If one looks at history, something seemingly unimportant today, efforts to drive wedges between people, friends and families, have occurred many times in the past. Often these efforts have led to battles and wars. No one should say that war is good, but at the end of war, or even the end of arguments, we humans seem to be able to put aside our differences and the world moves forward. This can even be seen in the lives of the very young where schoolyard arguments seem so important but are often forgotten within a few minutes. So, hope should exist. Those who attempt to drive wedges, as an “elite” or with their support, should be shunned and pushed aside. Let us have hope for the days yet to come.

Santa and His Helpers – Santa and his helpers are, perhaps, a fantasy. They exist in the world of children. Children who should not, at an early age, need to be faced with all the challenges of adults. While Santa’s origins may be clouded in mystery but there seems to be at least two common threads. First, is the celebration of Saint Nicholas. This is a day celebrated more in Europe than elsewhere which honors the work of St. Nicholas. If one reads more about this day, one can find things that have resulted in our Santa of today. The giving and the sharing, the need to be good, and even Santa’s name. Second is a poem published anonymously in 1823 titled “A Visit from St. Nicholas”. This poem, later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, is what we now refer to as “The Night Before Christmas”. It provided us with the little old man, so lively and quick, along with the description of his mode of transport (the sleigh), and the names of his eight tiny reindeer. Santa still deserves a place in our lives today and should be there for times yet to come. This is hope. The fear is that the “book banners” and the “realists” will eliminate fantasy from the world, much as they have eliminated parts of history that are “inconvenient” or might “insult” those who have differing views. This is the fear.

Trees – I really have no understanding of how or why the tree has become an important part of Christmas. I can only hope that it remains important in the future. I recognize, however, that the tree faces much controversy. The biggest threat to the Christmas tree is the survival of families and friendship. If these things do not survive, then the need for a Christmas tree will no longer exist. Such as loss would be devastating. The second threat to the Christmas tree is a more subtle change to society. As we move toward environmental awareness, we face challenges in how we retain tradition. On a small scale, almost insignificant in my view, the use of Christmas trees threatens our environment. To use live trees, we take away their ability to provide the benefits of trees left to grow. If we use artificial trees, we waste resources in their creation and create trash to be dealt with when the trees are no longer needed.

The Christmas tree really presents both hope and fear. Hopefully, we as humans can face and resolve the need to balance this challenge.

Gifts or Presents – Much like Christmas trees, gifts and presents in the times yet to come present challenges. Sometimes I think that my generation has failed our children. We did not create the world, but we seem to have changed it in a way that has caused irreversible problems. How did we do this? We created the world of entitlement. A world where there were no winners or losers, ignoring the fact that to have a winner you must also have a loser. A world where a person deserves something simply because another has it. A world where can live in a castle, travel without financial cares, and be unlimited in their desires. Such a world seems wonderful, almost Eden-like. But is it realistic?

This has led to a world where the value of a gift is no longer judged by the love or caring it represents but instead by the cost. I am realistic enough to recognize that we cannot return to the time that a gift of a few pieces of candy was treasured as much as one of a pricy toy. At the same time, I hope that we can return to a time where it is recognized that we cannot always have what we want. If this means that gifts are a fear, so be it.

Trains – I suspect that the time of trains at Christmas has come and gone. Much of the romanticism of trains which was common in my youth no longer exists. My hope here is that our future can replace the trains of the past with something as valuable to our future. While it may seem strange, as someone who worked for many years in the technology field, I do not believe our electronics can fill this role. My hope is that we can replace trains with something which contributes to the days yet to come. Perhaps a replacement might be to plant a sapling and helping it grow or sharing our heritage and emphasizing the positive rather than concentrating on things gone wrong. There is hope but there is also the fear that the time and opportunity for this to happen has passed us by.

Parades – There will always be a place in my heart for parades. Much like Santa, they provide us a moment of fantasy. Could the things on that float ever become real? Could I ever play music like that band? What other fantasies do parades offer others?

In my childhood, I could not imagine a time where there were no parades. Yet today and in the future, parades face many challenges – cost, time, convenience, safety, the list goes on. Parades are not limited to Christmas time. I recently read where a large city was cancelling there Fourth of July parade next year; a parade that has been held in one form or another since the late 1800’s. Will the same fate await the Christmas parade. I hope not, but I fear so. Not because of the reasons above but instead because of political correctness. Because of things that may have happened over 200 years ago and not even in this city It is a shame. Something that will probably never be returned if it is lost.

Snow – Snow is the one thing that we cannot control. My hope is that climate change will never stop the snow. I hope we can always wish for a white Christmas. I fear that here, the environmentalists may be right. Let us hope not.

As I end this short series of posts, I want to thank Charles Dickens for his inspiration. I thank Ebenezer Scrooge, at least after his enlightenment, and Jacob Marley. I thank Dickens’ spirits. And I thank my wife and those around me. I thank our two cats, whether they are trying to show their independence or their love. I hope that you, too, will think about your Christmases – past, present, and yet to come. And, I hope that they will be merry both now and in the future.

The Old White House in the Country (A Short Story of My Past)

bill fryman, , , , , , , , Leave a comment

This is not a work of fiction. Instead, it is written by a seventy-two-year-old man based on memories of his childhood. As a result, some things may be off regarding time, size, and other details. All rights to these materials are reserved although readers may share them provided they are appropriately attributed to the author.

After my wife and I had our Thanksgiving dinner last evening I thought about how much things had changed since I was young. A time when the holidays meant for families to gather and have conversation, played together, maybe even enjoyed a football game on either the radio or on television. When political events were not the subject on conversation, or at least, were no reason to end friendships or enjoy time together. Yes, things have changed, but not always for the better.

The old white house was located about four miles from the nearest town, in the center of fields and farmland used primarily for cotton but not anything even close to Tara or the other plantations so romantically described in literature and movies. It was a four-room house with attached porches on both the front and the back. I know little about the old house other than it, at some point, may have been inhabited by the landowner. I say this because the outbuildings around the house included sheds for storing seed and for smoking meat, a large building for chickens, and a mid-sized barn.

The white house was in a big yard with several really large white oak trees along with a few cedar trees. There were flowers of all types, from the tall, multi-colored hollyhocks to small daffodils, some in beds and some just scattered through out the yard. There were peach trees between the house and the large vegetable garden which was shared by the family each summer. From my earliest memories until the late nineteen-sixties, the house was inhabited only by my grandmother.

While there was electrical service to the house, there was no running water and, as a result, no indoor plumbing facilities. Heat, in the winter, was provided by a single, wood burning stove located in the living room. I also remember cooking being done on a wood burning kitchen stove in my early years although that stove was replaced by an electric range sometime in my childhood. The house was of simple design. It was basically a square, or perhaps a rectangle, divided into four smaller squares, the rooms. Each room was connected to the two adjacent rooms and the two front rooms opened onto the front porch while the two backrooms opened to the back porch. Each exterior wall had two windows, one in each room on that side of the house.

The house sat atop several concrete peers thus offering an open space about eighteen inches high under the house. Like I said earlier, there was no running water in the house. Instead, there was a hand pump a few feet outside the back door and water was pumped and carried into the house in buckets. Similarly, wood for the stoves was carried in a few pieces at a time from wood stored on the front porch or from wood stacks a bit farther away.

My grandmother’s family would be considered large today but at that time was probably common. She had four daughters, one who died early in her life, and four sons. All of her children were born in Tennessee, but the family moved to Arkansas when my mother was young. I never knew the reason but suspect it was because they could find work there. On holidays, it was common for the majority of my grandmother’s children to visit for at least one meal and often for the entire day. As the family grew older some were not able to visit every holiday because they had moved away but they were always welcomed when they could visit.

On these holidays not everyone could fit into the kitchen for eating so the children were often relegated to eat in another room or to eat later than the adults. One cousin and I were close to the same age, so we tended to play together. Most other cousins were several years older, so they also tended to visit together.

Near the white house, beside or amid the cotton fields were a large pecan tree and another large nut tree (I can’t remember the variety) where the men often collected nuts during the harvest season.

I will always remember the holidays as a great time for visiting with family. While we all had different lives, lived in different places, and had different friends, we were also family and could share things with each other. I remember times that were not so great and times that were truly celebrations. And from these things, we became closer as a family. I even remember some funny events, like the time when an in-law brought an apple pie for the holidays. When she arrived, she asked who had brought the ice cream to go with it. When no one answered, she said, “Well, I’ll just put my pie back into the car since you can’t eat pie without ice cream!” Of course, this led to many jokes as the story was repeated for many years after.

The old white house is no longer there. Nor are the fields where cotton, and later soybeans, grew. If fact, the area is no longer in the country. The city has grown, and all of this space has been absorbed. The old gravel roads have been paved and now have now have street names. But the memories remain, at least for the few of us who were around then and are still around now. But our numbers dwindle, just as do the memories. Hopefully, today’s children are building there own memories to share with those who follow and not all memories will be left forever on machines and in social media.

I hope that readers and their families had a chance to get together on Thanksgiving. If not, I hope you still had a happy holiday. And, with some luck, you had ice cream to go with your pie. Enjoy the holiday season and many more.

Oh, What a Night…

bill fryman, , , , Leave a comment

It was one of those nights. I must have gone to bed way too early. It was 1:49 AM and I was wide awake. I cuddled my wife with on one side and petted my cats with the other. I couldn’t go back to sleep. While I wanted to go back to sleep, there was also some good. I had no worries and I was comfortable. Life was basically good. So, my thoughts wandered and I dreamed even though I wasn’t asleep.

I wished I could waste a day in Margaritaville, listening to the Piano Man, as he sang and played about his love, the Uptown Girl. While it might have been a Rainy Night in Georgia, things were good in Missouri. Maybe I could get the Ole Hound Dog and hop aboard the Continental Trailways bus to Winslow, Arizona. Once there I could stand on the corner and hope the girl in the flatbed Ford would stop and give me a ride to the Hotel California. The next day I could sit on the Dock of the Bay with Otis and hope The Little Old Lady From Pasadena could take me to Surf City where we could have fun, fun, fun ’til her daddy took the T-Bird away. And after the fun ended, I caught the Midnight Train to Georgia where I spent many days with Memories of the trip.

This was probably just a waste of time but it did allow me to go back to sleep and when I awoke I thought more about my childhood where things were so much better, or were they really. If my parents were still with us, their views might be different but as a child the memories that linger are mostly good. My big worries seemed to be whether there was air in my bicycle tires and if it was going to rain. I was too young to know anything about the war in Korea and Viet Nam was far in the future. Important things were which friends would be able to play, and with what, later that day or early evening. Before bed time we usually sat on the front porch of my grandparent’s home and listened to baseball on the radio – spring, summer, and fall – or sat near the wood heater and talked about when the weather would be warm again if it was winter.

My family was by no means rich but we also never went hungry. When I was about three or four, my father built a house next door to my grandparents where we lived until I was out of college and they continued to live until their health made it impossible. Not a large house but one that met our needs. Costs were low but so were wages. There were no gangs, at least outside large cities like New York or Los Angeles, no drive by shootings, and minimal crimes. As children, we learned respect, courtesy, sharing, and cooperation. We learned that not everyone was a winner and for each winner there was a loser. But the loser could come back and might be the next day’s winner. Memories of that time are good.

I wish our children could have experienced the same but somewhere along the way we failed them. Perhaps it was when entitlement became the important thing. Maybe it was when toys took the place of reality. Maybe it was something else. One can hope that one day we return to the past but somehow I think that moving back to that world is no longer possible. It is a shame.

The Little Car

bill fryman, , , , , , , Leave a comment

When I was young my hometown had three small grocery stores. These stores were all good for immediate needs, sandwiches at lunch time, sodas and candy. They were not, however, even mid-sized chain stores like Kroger or Safeway. As a result, my family usually made a weekly trip to a larger city about twenty miles away to do most of our grocery shopping.

Even then, we did not always shop at the chain stores and instead shopped at a larger, independent grocery. This store, much like the chains, often had promotions. These were sometimes focused on things used in the kitchen or things associated with holidays. They might be discounts or even give aways for some items. But one special promotion holds a special place in my mind.

I cannot remember the exact year but I must have been around eight or nine years old. The store was giving away a large item, a miniature 1910 Model T car. It would hold two young passengers and was powered by a two-horsepower gas engine. Children visiting the store with their parents were allowed to submit one entry for each visit.

The promotion went on for several weeks and each trip to the store typically included groups of children standing by the display of the small car, staring at it in wonder and hoping that it might someday be theirs. I was one of those children and made sure I submitted my entry each time we were in the store to buy groceries.

Finally, the night arrived when the winner would be chosen. My uncle took my cousin and I to the drawing so that we could see who would win. When we arrived, a small group was gathered in front of the car awaiting the drawing. The store manager came out of his office with a large container holding all of the entries. After thanking all of the parents for shopping in his store, it was time to draw the winning ticket. He asked me if I would like to draw the ticket. I thanked him but declined telling him I was going to be the winner instead. Everyone had a good laugh about that.

He then asked my cousin if he would like to draw the winning ticket and my cousin agreed. My cousin then dipped his hand into the container, stirred the tickets once again, and made the draw. He handed the ticket to the store manager who, to my great amazement, announced my name as the winner. I couldn’t believe it. After having my picture taken with the car and probably doing a few other things, the question became, “How do I get it home?” While my father had a pickup, neither he nor my mother were in attendance. So my uncle took us back to my grandmother’s house where we told everyone of my good luck.

We then went back to the store to pick up my prize and take it home. At first, I was only allowed to drive the little car in our yard. As my skills improved, I was allowed to drive it on our block and later to other places in my hometown. I learned a lot with that little car like sharing and safety. But my biggest memory was learning not to touch the spark plug on a running engine – funny now but not so funny then.

The photo above shows me riding in the passenger seat while allowing the girl next door to drive the “little car.” I’m not sure how old we were but with both seemed to be enjoying the ride. Apologies for the blurriness but this is a scan of a photo that is probably somewhere between sixty and sixty-five years old and taken with an Instamatic or similar camera.

I kept the little car and used it until I was old enough to purchase a small motorcycle. Then I sold the car to another child who used it for many years afterwards. I’m not sure where the little car spent its final years, the red, wooden spoked wheels were not very strong and the fiberglass fenders already had cracks when I sold it but I hope it served many well.

I’ve seen photos of many similar little cars since that time but mine will always be special to me.

Quilting

bill fryman, , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I saw a post on another social media site this morning titled “Murphy’s Laws of Quilting.” This post reminded me of my late grandmother and how things were in her home.

My grandmother passed away in 1970, just a few weeks after I started college. Unfortunately I was unable to attend her funeral services because I could not make the trip home. But I remember much about her. One of the earliest pictures that I have of me as a child is one standing in her yard with her. She lived in a small, four room home on a cotton farm a few miles outside the nearest town until just a few months before her death. The home did not have running water and was heated by a wood stove. She had an electric stove for cooking her last few years there but I can remember when she also had a wood stove for cooking. On most days she lived alone although she was visited almost every evening by one or more of her children and most of the family visited on one, or both, days each weekend.

While she had an old pedal driven Singer sewing machine, most of her sewing was on quilts and done by hand. The majority of her living room space was covered by a quilting frame below the single light hanging on an electric wire providing light for the entire room. The frame was suspended from the ceiling by ropes at each corner. She would start her quilting on one side of the quilt and as she proceeded across the quilt the frame could be adjusted so that she worked close to her chair. The final step was for her to sew hems on each side of the quilt. When visitors came, the frame could be raised to make more space in the living room and to protect the quilt from damage.

As far as I know, she did not make the tops of the quilts. Other members of the family made these and took them to her to be quilted which could be a lengthy process depending on how many were waiting to be completed.

I still have one or two of the quilts made on this frame today although age is beginning to take its toll. These quilts were used, not put away for posterity. I think back on spending nights with my grandmother, sometimes alone and other times with cousins. We knew not to disturb the quilts while they were being completed.

I always remember visiting my grandmother as an enjoyable time although I’m sure there were at least some visits that may have been less so. The biggest challenges I remember were pumping water by hand and having to use the “outhouse”, especially in the winter.

I hope you have similar memories of times with your grandparents.

Sand Boxes

bill fryman, , Leave a comment

Originally posted in June 2024.

Today’s youngsters have lives filled with technology.  What started with simple things like Atari games has grown into cell phones, iPads and iPods, and all sorts of new and more complicated technology. Don’t think of me as anti-technology.  I have worked in the field for over thirty years, more if you count the “data processing” years in the military.  At the same time, I wonder if all of these new “toys” have caused today’s youth to miss out on things that are important – things like sand boxes.

While this may not be true in large urban areas, in rural America almost every family had a sand box if they had young children.  The sand box could be as simple as four boards nailed together into a square or rectangle or as complex as a metal square with seats on the sides, an umbrella over the top, and a way to drain any water from the bottom.  The only common feature was they were all filled with sand.

Sand boxes were places where one could play alone or one could play with family, friends, or neighbors.  They were places where the only limit to play was imagination.  Children could have toys like trucks, tractors, dolls, or almost anything in their sand boxes.  Sand boxes were places where we learned sharing, cooperation, and how to deal with others.  Perhaps most importantly, they were places where we learned that disagreements were not the end of the world.

Sure, there were arguments.  We got mad at those who didn’t say or do what we wanted. We yelled at each other. We occasionally had fights. Sometimes we were so mad that we took our toys and went home.  Even so, after we calmed down, we usually ended back in the sand box playing with the same friends again. No one needed to go home and get a gun to shoot someone. No one needed to tear down a beloved sand box. No one had to prove that he or she was better than everyone else.

Perhaps that is what is missing today. Our technology has taken away the need to work and play with others.  We can live in an isolate world where we make the rules and not care about anyone else. Violence is the answer to everything.  Personally, I have problems with this. Bring back the sand boxes.

Today’s youngsters have lives filled with technology.  What started with simple things like Atari games has grown into cell phones, iPads and iPods, and all sorts of new and more complicated technology. Don’t think of me as anti-technology.  I have worked in the field for over thirty years, more if you count the “data processing” years in the military.  At the same time, I wonder if all of these new “toys” have caused today’s youth to miss out on things that are important – things like sand boxes.

While this may not be true in large urban areas, in rural America almost every family had a sand box if they had young children.  The sand box could be as simple as four boards nailed together into a square or rectangle or as complex as a metal square with seats on the sides, an umbrella over the top, and a way to drain any water from the bottom.  The only common feature was they were all filled with sand.

Sand boxes were places where one could play alone or one could play with family, friends, or neighbors.  They were places where the only limit to play was imagination.  Children could have toys like trucks, tractors, dolls, or almost anything in their sand boxes.  Sand boxes were places where we learned sharing, cooperation, and how to deal with others.  Perhaps most importantly, they were places where we learned that disagreements were not the end of the world.

Sure, there were arguments.  We got mad at those who didn’t say or do what we wanted. We yelled at each other. We occasionally had fights. Sometimes we were so mad that we took our toys and went home.  Even so, after we calmed down, we usually ended back in the sand box playing with the same friends again. No one needed to go home and get a gun to shoot someone. No one needed to tear down a beloved sand box. No one had to prove that he or she was better than everyone else.

Perhaps that is what is missing today. Our technology has taken away the need to work and play with others.  We can live in an isolate world where we make the rules and not care about anyone else. Violence is the answer to everything.  Personally, I have problems with this. Bring back the sand boxes.