Nostalgic Childhood Tale

Her family had a tavern at the other corner of our block. We didn’t go to the same school or church, so I don’t recall exactly how Ida and I came to be friends. She was Italian with the longest braid I had ever seen.

Her corner was on a busy St. Louis thoroughfare - Arsenal Street - so she didn’t play outside her front door. With just a mere six or so structures separating our corner downhill from hers, ours was a better place to play. It was a fun strip to bike or roller skate down, with lots of room for hopscotch games and jump rope. My guess is we met playing on the sidewalk between our corners.

Childhood rules included not asking Mom’s permission for any play dates in front of the friends involved. (That strategy never worked, anyway). I have a vague memory of peering into Ida’s side door and up a dark stairway but I don’t recall ever having climbed those stairs. She didn’t have a yard. We had a backyard roomy enough for a child-sized picnic table, a swing set and a little square pool with corner seats.

I must have timed my plea right to invite Ida for lunch because Mom agreed to it. She prepared spaghetti with Chef Boy-Ardee’s help and set our picnic table for a fun feast that included slices of garlic bread and ice cold Kool-Aid.

It was a feast we never tasted. My little brother sat down first. Ida sat down across from him and I was climbing in next to her when the table tilted. Most of lunch landed in Ida’s lap since she was already seated. There were squeals from my brother dangling from his bench and squalls from me, because, well, that’s what I do. Poor Ida stood very still while Mom tried to wipe noodles and sauce off her clothes.

We still played together but Ida never came for lunch again.