Thursday, September 20, 2001
untitled 2 (2001.09.21)
~
I remember the times we all got together. Football field, dirt bikes and jagged-toothed, ragged boys, running, sweating, panting in the sunshine of a Sunday afternoon. We would rest a while, then go to the store for ice creams or drinks or whatever we could afford or steal. Times weren’t tough; but living life on any edge at that age seemed like a great idea. I guess we may have been too young for perspective but we didn’t care: we were horsemen, cavaliers, knights of a place we called home. It was our neighborhood, we owned it, and we roamed it. Vandalism, disturbing the peace -- these were all the things we knew about but didn’t care to label ourselves with. We just did whatever whiled away the hours between schools, sleep, our parents, cutting the grass, doing the dishes, homework and Sunday mass. We were young, on the edge of something unidentifiable, strange, known only by us. We roamed, we owned, the playgrounds of our youth, of our soul. Green, green grass of home, indeed. The days and nights of playing, running and sweating, shaped our youths, shaped our lives that were unfolding before we even knew it. The edge, the end, the unknown of my days and Thursdays and autumns before we all grew up and went away.
S*
2001.09.21
I remember the times we all got together. Football field, dirt bikes and jagged-toothed, ragged boys, running, sweating, panting in the sunshine of a Sunday afternoon. We would rest a while, then go to the store for ice creams or drinks or whatever we could afford or steal. Times weren’t tough; but living life on any edge at that age seemed like a great idea. I guess we may have been too young for perspective but we didn’t care: we were horsemen, cavaliers, knights of a place we called home. It was our neighborhood, we owned it, and we roamed it. Vandalism, disturbing the peace -- these were all the things we knew about but didn’t care to label ourselves with. We just did whatever whiled away the hours between schools, sleep, our parents, cutting the grass, doing the dishes, homework and Sunday mass. We were young, on the edge of something unidentifiable, strange, known only by us. We roamed, we owned, the playgrounds of our youth, of our soul. Green, green grass of home, indeed. The days and nights of playing, running and sweating, shaped our youths, shaped our lives that were unfolding before we even knew it. The edge, the end, the unknown of my days and Thursdays and autumns before we all grew up and went away.
S*
2001.09.21
