1986

Summer time... California.

A personally selected number of my school friends, including of course Joey from down the street, had all just left and our home was still save for a small echelon of family members who remained to assist my mother with post-birthday party clean-up and repositioning of furniture.

It was a warm June and I had just turned six.

I stood in the living room smiling, the cone-shaped party hat still affixed to my head held firmly by the elastic string band. Birthday cake frosting clung to the corners of my mouth and paired with my kool aid mustache I presented the appearance of a rabid clown-child smiling at his prelude of his life.

I took a deep breath and eyed all the treasures that I had so quickly acquired... a Nerf spiral football, a sticker pack, a few coloring books and puzzles, a set of dominoes annotated as "the best for standing and knocking", and a Gotcha battery operated, automatic squirt gun that came with red and blue disappearing ink... The box exampled a happily surprised mom who's curtains had been only momentarily damaged by the unusual splatter.

I scooped up my gifts and brought them all into my room, placing some on the bed and some on a table that my mom had given me to promote my drawing and coloring abilities. I chose first the box of dominoes and pushed back cups of paint brushes and boxes of crayons making room for a proper set-up.
Meticulously I stood each domino up on end rightfully forming the shape of the number six. I bumped the first domino at the top of the six with my index knuckle and watch in sheer bliss as they all systematically fell, just like on TV.

The Gotcha squirt gun was chosen next and after installing the included batteries and filling the reservoir with the blue ink I took aim at my bedspread and pulled the trigger. The ink streamed out in rapid bolts tuned closely to the machine gun recording in the gun's handle. I dropped my aim and rushed across the room to view the carnage. The Ink evaporated slowly leaving a piss-yellow stain on my white comforter. Not good. I folded the opposite end of the comforter over the stain just in case my Mom should happen in.

With squirt gun in hand I secured my football and ran through the living room passing the grown-ups on chairs in the dining room with trash bags in-hand taking down crate paper decorations and wilted balloons.

The screen door slammed behind me as I skipped off the front porch and headed for my play spot under my favored tree. The late afternoon air was sweet with subtle humidity and not-to-far-away peaches. I put the squirt gun down and chucked the Nerf ball across the yard at the clothe line.

My one never changing companion hung from the oak tree on the side of our house. It was an old truck tire secured to a far outward reaching branch by a thick, black and red nylon rope. The tire was shiny and smooth from years of use and smelt like grease and asphalt. It didn't come in a colorful box and didn't require batteries. My friends didn't green-up with envy when they saw me with it and I rarely even mentioned it at school. But still, it had a top place on my list of favorite things - between monkeys and skateboards and I valued it deeply.

The Tire was still warm from the sun when I climbed up and pushed my legs inside the hole in the middle. I held onto the rope where it was tied to the tire and started to walk my feet in a circle around and around until the rope taunted and started to pull slightly upwards, my toes now barley touching the worn-down dirt spot below the swing...

I stretch my arms all the way out and leaned backwards allowing my head legs to lift. The tire swing started to spin and I relaxed my body and looked up at the clouds whirling in kaleidoscope patterns of childhood happiness.