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Show THE ZEPHYRIFEBRUARY-MARCH 2009 POINTBLANK MY WORLD By James O. Stiles, Sr. written 1n the summer of 1946 J, ee | Aw Ayers James 0. Stiles 101 SectionL Eng. hy World tT have always lived in the city fortunate that my home in my boyhood friends and derness 1 could of tangled lose ourselves weeds and dead but was in have near that tree limbs considered a commons. square block for hours myself 7 wil-- on end. The crisp autumn air always brought a lust fer adventure | in that small square of the United States where the Indian was still warring. We built mighty forts that put Daniel Boone to shame, erea. ever from We the were victim of branches wonderful a poison and lest Redskin "bit the dust" nS that fighters we profusely for always or until not covered one fought of us until the was the Mom called us for supper. Phese native Americans must have had wonderful reproducpve powers, for they attacked us for years. The hostilities decreased steadily, however, and sometime around my tenth or eleventh birthday the Sioux, pest had become extinct. a boxes Indian arrow,and dnus Dad!s might The warn, gentle Shawnees, ; breezes of the desire to “dig a cave" Ir@quois,and - spring in the shovel, spade, pickeaxe a be useful weei-taken from”) never all the failed to stir soft, damp ground. ny other berth in object we thought the gsrage to aic | hs in building an underground escape. the same pr After we had excavated sufficiently deep, always confronted us: “what are we going to use for a r “Well, Mr. Jones has some loose boards on his fence",or "1 us noticed replies. we always some lumber in Mr. That night after Brown's backyard", darkness had solved our problem. . settled came various over 7. the — city, - Baseball fever always gripped us right after school was | out. Our old commons answered that call too. We'd busy cursel=- wes cutting the weeds and carting away rocks and would soon have a diamond to fit our needs, Our unwritten law of * no work, | no play" gave our games an exclusive membership, in addition te trouble with the neighborhood drones. That "world of my boyhood has now disappeared amidst the the expanding city. Neat homes and well Bept lawns have taken youngplace of my "forest. primeval. 1 often wonder where the where is Indians, eters of that neighborhood today shoot their their retreat from the orderliness of every day life? I wonder. James O. Stiles, Sr. has been “clinging hopelessly to the past” since September 20, 1924. He still lives in Louisville, Kentucky with my mother, where he continues to be “politically incorrect,” most of the time. (apologies to Native Americans) JS. jr — |
