CSotD: Tuesday’s World of Amusement
Skip to comments
This week, Frazz (AMS) reminds me that I spent most of the summer of 1958 having my fighter plane shot down. There was a huge swing set in our neighborhood — three swings built on a majestic steel frame — and so Bobby and Keith and I would declare what planes we were flying (I varied between a Mustang and a P-38) and then go into combat, invariably ending up being shot down and having to bail out.
Even at eight, we knew that paratroopers rolled when they landed, so we were one up on this kid and, having the landing nailed, we could focus on distance, and, since we played this every day, by the end of summer we were getting some impressive air before landing, even though our planes were wildly out of control before we bailed out.
First of all, kudos to Jef Mallett for the slanted panels in Monday’s strip. And kudos to the kid for finding a swing set that still has wooden swings and not those nasty “safe” slings that make it hard to stand up and achieve altitude, much less bail out once you have.
Plus this: Not a lot of eight-year-olds carry pocket knives anymore, but we had them, which meant that, if we were shot down over a Pacific island, we could cut and sharpen spears with which to defend ourselves, as long as we didn’t get too close to Keith’s house, since his mother objected to small children hurling sharp sticks, even at venomous snakes just about to bite a fellow aviator.
A significant number of years later, my son was attached to a for-real military helicopter group at Coronado, on the Pacific Coast by San Diego. This Lockhorns (KFS) reminds me that, while parking was always at a premium on the base, there was one spot always open by the BX.
It probably should have had a sign, but everyone stationed there knew that birds nested in the o’erhanging palm tree, and not just any birds, but pelicans, which can go over 30 pounds, and, to add to the fun, live on a diet of fish.
I suppose anyone who pulled into the car-shaped blank spot in the middle of the splatter pattern deserved whatever they got.
Big Nate (AMS) is funny, but the days when only the instigator got in trouble are long since past.
I got called to the office when elder son punched out a kid who had purposely spilled something while Sonny Boy was working in the school cafeteria. In our discussion about the three-day mandatory suspension, the vice-principal confided to me that the entire staff and faculty were pleased to see this obnoxious kid get what he asked for, but that rules were rules.
Some years later, Other Sonny Boy got in a spontaneous shoving match that earned him a three-day suspension because the principal said he could not be expected to differentiate between horseplay and real fighting. I would have thought the laughter might be a clue, but, again, rules were rules.
I was lucky to go to school in the days when, for instance, the principal once reached out a finger to tuck the Old Golds pack deeper into my shirt pocket, with a shake of his head at my lack of discretion.
Juxtaposition of the Day
Yesterday was one of the first real spring-weather days we’ve had hereabouts and, as Macanudo recommends, a lovely time to soak up a little nature, though the traditional mother’s rule is to stay out of the water until June, since it’s still pretty icy.
And Bliss reminds me that my own rule is to remember that your windows are down and people can now hear your critique of their driving skills. The way Harry Bliss draws this, I assume he considers the guy in the red car to be the idiot, but it takes two to tangle.
I’m reminded of doing school pickup on one of the first warm days and sitting at the crosswalk, waiting to find a parking space while a dreaming eighth grade girl sauntered across the street. I didn’t swear, but I did say something along the lines of “Come on, sweetie, keep moving” and heard a burst of laughter from her mother, parked on the other side with her window down, and, no doubt, having said just such things to the child many times before.
Thank god I was in a gentle mood. My kids once advanced a theory that if Sophocles had never written that famous play, I wouldn’t have been able to drive a car.
But it’s intended to be a soliloquy, not direct address. Gotta adjust to the season of open windows.
Still in personal mode, Half Full (AMS) seems like a documentary, and I think of it as a budgetary strategy: At the end of the month, waiting for Social Security to come in, I’m particularly apt to forego the basket and buy only what I can hold.
Which triggers two thoughts: One is that, as summer approaches, I have fewer pockets, which is good because I’ve heard of people busted for things they forgot they jammed in a pocket when their hands became full.
The other is that Social Security and food stamps distribution is now staggered, and SS is available as a direct deposit. Back in the day, however, you’d see long lines at customer service once a month, with people cashing their checks so they could buy food.
At least in my neighborhoods, back in the day.
Betty (AMS) has been introducing Junior to the game of baseball, which is a dying sport, unfortunately, in part because kids aren’t just running around the neighborhood the way they used to be.
You can play catch with a friend, or monkey-in-the-middle with two, but you’ve got to assemble a crew to get anything approaching a decent sandlot ballgame going, even if you allow ghost runners and put a member of the batting team in as catcher. But everybody’s in after-school programs or at violin lessons or told to stay inside and be safe until the adults come home.
However, back when we all ran free, we all played baseball and so Hollywood fed our interest, and I don’t know how many movies Bub planning to list, but I’ll give him “Field of Dreams” and start my own list here.
Feel free to add to it in the comments.
(And not the crappy Disney remake — the real one! This one!)
(And, yes, she’s one of THOSE Corcorans)
Comments 13
Comments are closed.