Tagged

A picture came into my life the other day.  It arrived in a Facebook post with the announcement that I had been “tagged.”  Being the curious sort, and admittedly a little bit vain, I immediately clicked on the link, and there before me was a snapshot of my life taken over 40 years ago.  I had never seen this photo, but it instantly transported me back to that early Sunday morning back in 1966 or ’67.

The picture is a slightly blurry, black and white photo showing a young boy and girl linked arm in arm wearing their Sunday finest.  The occasion was Easter morning, and the young couple was myself and next door neighbor, Julie Walker.  Julie and I were the same age, only four or five years old, when this picture was taken.  We had been born into this neighborhood and were the only ones of our age, so it was natural that we became early playmates.  It was only a couple weeks ago that I had written to Julie that she was the first friend I ever had, and that is true.

Julie and I did everything together in those early days.  In the summertime; we played together, either swinging on my swing set trying to touch the overhead electrical lines with our feet (obviously an impossible prospect, but it was a goal we still fought to attain) or maybe to even swing high enough to loop over the top, which for us was another equally impossible goal.  I’m sure many important childhood discussions were held on those swings, as we swayed back and forth and contemplated life from a five year old’s perspective.  Sometimes we played in Julie’s backyard, cramming our little bodies into her dog, Tippy’s doghouse.  I still don’t know how we managed to fit both of ourselves into that cramped, smelly space, but we did.  We might sit out on the front porch and have a popsicle together, or perhaps help Mom snap green beans for dinner.  We attended school together until I transferred to school 89 in fifth grade, not rejoining her until our high school years.  We also attended the same church, and that is where we were headed when this photo was taken.

The setting for the picture is the street in front of my childhood home.  We’re standing at the end of my gravel drive.  The photographer is standing under “the big tree.”  That is how the tall cottonwood at the back corner of Julie’s yard was known to the kids in the neighborhood.  It was the common meeting place and provided a cool pool of shade on a hot summer’s day.  There was always someone sitting under or perched high up in that tree.  The large spruce trees in the far neighbor’s yard are no longer there, but the little maple tree in my front yard is now a grand specimen.  The driveway was gravel for nearly all the years I lived there, but once I moved out, my parents had it paved.  I remember getting the job of sweeping the gravel off the walk or out of the street, and in the winter, one had to be careful to shovel snow and not scoop up too many rocks. 

The car in the background is my family’s car, and the first car I was to ever know.  I believe it is a ’56 Buick special and was white over light green.  My memory always paints that car a dark green or black, but pictures don’t lie.  I can remember our having the Buick, but for some reason, I don’t remember riding in it except for one time.  My father was giving my sister, Sheila a driving lesson.  Sheila had never driven anything, let alone a car with a clutch.  So that afternoon my sister managed to jump, hop and stall that car over and over again all the way down the street.  I was along for the wild bronco ride, and I think that is why that particular day still holds a spot in the dusty corner of my memory.  I don’t know if Sheila ever did master the Buick, but my oldest sister lists it as having been one of her favorite cars to drive.

In the photo, Julie and I are dressed for Easter services.  Those were the days when people still shopped for a special outfit to wear to church on Easter morning.  Today you are just as likely to see someone go to Sunday church services in blue jeans and a sweatshirt.  I miss the days of women with gloves and pillbox hats with their short veils and men in suits and hats.  I always looked forward to Mom buying me my new spring suit.  It always made me feel older and more important.  Julie is in her Easter dress with her anklets and gloves and patent leather shoes.  Her father had coated them the night before with Vaseline to accentuate the shine.  Her little grown-up purse is hanging from her wrist.  We were quite the couple.

I have a vague recollection of being told to hold her hand for the picture and not being particularly happy about it,  The sad face in the shot would seem to bear this out.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pose with Julie, but at that age, such public displays of affection were anathema to me.  But pose we did, and now four decades later I sit and look back on those happy times longingly. I want to go back to when tag was a game Julie and I played in the backyard and not a Facebook term.  Thank you Julie for sending me the photo, and thank you for being such a good friend all those many years ago.