Push-ups

Push-ups. 

Not a drill sergeants drop down and give me twenty type. Not the secret undergarment of Victoria type. I'm thinking of the orange sherbet coated vanilla ice cream in a tube type. Remember those? 

Push-ups! 

A frozen dairy and sugar combo, irresistible on a Summer afternoon when heat visibly hovers in undulating mirages over blacktopped surfaces, and youngsters drip with the sweat-caked dust from a parched makeshift baseball field. 

Push-ups were not only scrumptious, their delivery system was so unique that even if they did not taste good, the ice cream man would still offer them because kids would still want to buy them. They were food and they were fun, fun food. 

Push-ups have gone the way of many childhood things, along with childhood itself. They were small, but we were small, so that was okay. 

They were melt-y. On the hottest afternoons only seconds passed before rivulets of orange began to drip from the bottom of softening cardboard tubes onto sticky palms, trailing to wrists, intertwining with and even re-directed by sweaty dirt residue all the way to the elbows of us. Some could be licked clean; orange, vanilla, salty sweat and dirt, all in one who cares if the dirty sugary mess is a little less than delicious lick. For a bit, the dried but still sticky sugary residue glistened on skin. 

 Precious time could not be taken to run in the house for a washing, into the house where Mom may sidetrack with a chore, or lunch, or some other play-time bandit. A garden hose sufficed. We could wash with the sun warmed water in the length of hose strung through the grass and by the time the warm water was used up and the hose started running cold water, we could follow up with a long refreshing drink.
 

Sun-up to sun-down the world was ours. We didn't know it then but thinking about it now, I am inclined to believe there never in history was a sweeter time. Our lives were relatively easy, safe. We lived more comfortable and secure than ever before or since. Our worries were few.

There was for us a nice home, a soft bed. We had plenty of clean clothes suited to any climate conditions. We were not fat, we were well exercised and our mothers cooked every day, no, literally no fast food. Endless hours every day were spent deeply breathing in fresh outdoor air. We were not restricted to eye and ear shot of parents for fear of child predators. We did not wash our hands before we ate our ice cream on sticks and we did lick our fingers, and stuff. We drank out of the hose.

From Memorial Day to Labor Day we were free. Free to roam, dream, imagine, plan, stretch and linger, interrupted only by family vacations, Summer camp and the fourth of July. 

Each fourth of July welcomes gatherings with family, friends and crowds of cheerful strangers to celebrate this wonderful gift of freedom. I remember previous fourth of July's, or at least some aspects of the seasons past, and I am so profoundly grateful.

Things change, it is expected.

 I did not have old enough eyes to see days like today, back in my days of push-ups. These days were a mystery, a far far into the future mystery. But I can see those push-up days from here, and have seen enough since those days to know that they were indeed unusual. They were a gift to be treasured, protected and preserved. 

These days are a treasure all their own. We will look back on them with old enough eyes, to see their once mysteries revealed. 

Things change, it is expected. 

Perhaps in looking back we will not recognize who we have become as a nation. Far from where we began when the push first started. We have pushed up to strength and status, we have pushed on through threats and injuries and we have pushed out of our borders and boundaries. We have been afforded the freedom and independence to push. 

There is such a thing as pushing too hard, too far, for too long; where freedom and independence go the way of childhood.

Treasure freedom this Independence Day. 

It is certain to change.

P.J.