Looking back

Pat Paddock

Just how much did our parents have to do with development of our likes

and dislikes?

Looking back, there were some areas that were strictly my choices.

When a baseball catchers mask and mitt were presented on an early gift

reception occasion, I wasn’t too happy. I don’t recall ever expressing a

desire for anything of the baseball genre other than a ball and bat.

Catcher equipment was overly specialized and too confining to the most

hazardous position in the game.

With a fielders mitt, one could opt for eight spots. So I bought my

own as soon as I got enough allowances together. Never used it much, but

it enabled me to show early independence.

My preference was football. Footballs of those days had to be blown up

like a balloon. Took a lot of lung power to get it hard enough to kick.

When through puffing, the nozzle was bent over, rubber banded shut and

tucked between the air holding bladder and the pigskin cover. That slit

then laced shut with a leather thong, using a special lacer to get it

tight, and you were in business.

You really had to want to play the game to go through all that, or

else have a friend who owned a ball. I was a ball owner, so I got to play

quite a bit. I also had a pair of football pants that could stand alone

in the corner. It felt and looked like I was in a barrel when suited up.

Took two steps before anyone could tell I was underway. Had a helmet too,

making me fearsome as well as deceptive each time I handled the ball.

The helmet needed growing into. It was made of stiff leather, had a

few holes for ventilation and bigger ones in the hard ear flaps. Hanging

below my eyes it provided an aimless quality to my ball carrying.

Being untouchable, shoulder pads were neither required nor affordable.

I cut a shifty figure in those random pants and mystery hat.

Wheels were supplied by the folks. Kiddy Cars to start, then trikes,

Irish Mails and bikes. The ultimate in bikes was to own a Columbia or

Ivar Johnson. Never got up to those, in fact I don’t recall any of my

bikes having name plates of any kind by the time I got them. They weren’t

hot, just well used.

The only one I remember was a gift from the police department because

I had found, and reported, several stolen bikes that were hidden under a

small haystack in a neighborhood vacant lot. That discovery came when I

attempted to show a warm up fearsome side by diving and tackling the

pile. Almost lost my teeth colliding with the unexpected loot at the

bottom.

The reward for turning them in, was to pick a bike from the police

cache of unclaimeds. Being wheel-less at the time, due to mine having

been stolen at school, it was a timely award.

The priceless gift from my parents was an early love of good books.

They supplied, I read. King Arthur and his Knights pushed me along the

path of righteousness, as did Ivanhoe and later Jeffrey Farnoll’s tales

of struggling heroes. Today, I find that books and newspapers are using

smaller and dimmer print. * PAT PADDOCK is a Laguna Beach resident and a

contributor to the Coastline Pilot.