Jumping the Fence

The fence consisted of a cement wall and a wooden fence. It was like a barrier to keep all the elementary kids in. For us, it was a barrier to break. We often played kickball, and the goal was to kick the ball over the fence so they had to let us out to retrieve the ball. It was a growing wall since we were on the many hillsides of San Francisco. It was at its highest point where we played kickball. I took many trips up the hill to retrieve the ball. What a strange obsession emphasized with great pride, not unlike the homerun hitters of the MLB trotting the bases around the park.

One day, after the yard had closed one cement park hooligans had dared me to jump the cement fence onto the cement ground of the schoolyard. Although I was somewhat hesitant, I was not known to turn down a dare. We found a loose board in the fence and stood on top of the cement wall, with the empty yard below us. Mind you, I wore flip flop, hence not a lot of stability. I stood there and wondered what the heck I was doing. But dare was a dare. I don't remember who the other person was, but he jumped and was still alive. The pressure was even greater on me. It seemed I was jumping into an abyss and I could never survive. The distance down seemed insurmountable, but I had to approve that I was not a chicken. I knew it was going to hurt, but I had to.

Slowly I got up the courage to take what seemed the giant leap at all cost. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. I did it, and I was still alive. My ankle was soar, but no one could take away from me the chutzpah it took to challenge that wall and my leap of faith.

The t finish our deed, we had to climb the rod iron fence so we could go home.

Softball Team

Joe recognized all our talents in the schoolyard and quickly formed a softball team. He took his little black Volvo and poured in as many as he could to take us around town. We had to play on Saturdays, and Joe was always there for us. Rivalry with Kathy was none-stop. She was a year older than I, but I wanted to pitch. Joe being the Solomon of the schoolyard, worked it out that both of us could pitch. I remember Lenny, who was fast as lightning. Nor can I forget Mary Castro. She was much bigger than us, but what a fielder she was. Nothing got by her.

Well, if you haven't guessed it, our rag-tag team became San Francisco champions. It definitely was a highlight of my young life. We got medals to validate our victory that hung promptly and with great pride with all my other certificates I had earned. Amazingly, some of them were even academic.

Why did I say that. I was just as competitive academically like any other sport.

Once a week there was a writing contest. The winner could lead the Pledge of Allegiance each morning in the schoolyard for a week. I was determined that I was going to do that. So I copied my story from the Encyclopedias my parents bought me every week at Safeway. It was on sea Anemones and was shocked that I won. I did have a sense of guilt that it was not my words. Certainly teachers knew as well. Why did they give it to me? Somehow the victory was not as rewarding. It was too easy.

Life Alone

The playground in the summer was my life. All my friends were there in one confined area. I had a wonderful time and could not wait for Joe to show up and start us out with activities; playing Monopoly, learning to braid with plastic, playing softball, kickball, two/foursquare.You name it, we did it. We never went home for lunch. For me there was nothing there. My other worked too clean houses and my father has his job which he had hoped to shed when he was in Holland.

I remember my shoes consisted of flip flops. After all, the were only 49¢. I love them. I played so hard that I often didn't realize the sunburn on my feet. They would blister, since they were never exposed to continuous sun. I was having so much fun that I did not feel the blisters until the end of the day. At night I would pop them and my mother would treat them with some kind of salve. The next day I would put them back on, since wearing shoes would be too painful. Often we would play long after Joe had left. I remember climbing the 6 foot rod iron fence to get out. No big deal. I always made sure I was home before my father got off the bus.

Other times I would beat my mother home from work, dangling my legs out of the second story apartment, looking for her.

I had so much freedom, and it was the fear of my father that kept me line from getting into trouble. Essentially, those years; 3-5 grade, I raised myself. I'm sure it was not my mother's choice. It was just a reality that I had accepted or was oblivious of it since we lived in the Netherlands when my mom had to work in the theater to raise enough money for our first

TV and funds to come to America.

Awards and more awards

The group I hung around with was quite competitive. Joe arranged for us to have numerous competitions. We played four square, two square, and roller skating from one end of the playground to the other.
Kathy was perhaps the most athletic of us all, but I was determined to beat her at whatever she did. First was the softball throw, and boy could I throw. Then it was the competition for four-squre and two-square. More aggressive I could not be.
My last competition was of great concern. I naturally was not known to be fleet of foot. Kathy was, and that presented a threat. We had a race on roller skates and I could not let her get ahead of me. My legs never moved faster to keep up with my challenge. She stumbled and I took advantage of that. In the end I miraculously won.
I now was the proud owner of the playground competition of Columbus School. Incredibly, I still have all those certificates.
Good memories of the schoolyard.

The playground

My second home in San Francisco was the playground. Joe was in charge and we all showed our reverence to him. We had opportunities to learn arts and crafts, play Monopoly and scrabble like there was no tomorrow.
My mom would give me a quarter every day while she went to work. I often had to manage my money so I could either get my sandwich, cola, or snowballs. We all went to the small grocery store down from the playground. Mike would slice the bologna, smear our rolls with mayonaise, in a most methodical way. We were proud and felt adult like that we could buy our own lunch on our own. Mike was our friend and he anticipated our arrival on a daily basis. He sharpened his knife to extract that special cut of meat from a huge roll of bologna. He was delighted in our appearance and gave us the respect of any adult customer.

The bus

I found, but did not realize that I had an extreme amount of liberties. One of those was my bus pass. For 10¢ I could travel anywhere in San Francisco, and I used it freely. I went to see the sisters across the park. I was an independent cuss and found it difficult to sit idle.
One of these days I received a coupon to see the Ringling Brothers circus in the civic auditorium in downtown San Francisco. I asked my mom for the 50¢ entry fee and she gladly complied. Off I was with the masses. No fear ever crossed my mind. Because of my independence I had experiences no child could ever have. My parents counted on me to be responsible.
I don't know if it was my confidence or my unassuming attitude, but I never felt threatened. I had a wonderful day watching the magnificent circus, even if it was in the nosebleed section.
The circus was over when most of the people were leaving their jobs for another day. The mass of humanity was certainly not a threat to this nine-year-old. After having my own children, it is difficult to fathom the unusual trust they had in me.

The Nazi's are coming

I never knnew a lot about my father's experiences in concentration camp. I did know it wasn't good. We were sponsored by a Jewish soccer team and my father got some minimal support. For me. living in that new apartment meant many a sleepless night.
My father came home from work on the bus everyday. It stopped kitty corner from where we lived. With the rolling hills, many people had basement apartments. Windows were literally on the ground level. So what was my nightmare repeatedly? I would dream that my father was coming home. I would always watch for the bus to arrive (which I did in reality). But looking out I would see Nazi's hanging out in those windows with rifles, and obviously looking for Jews.
I would see the bus and scream for my father not to get out because THEY were waiting for him. It always stopped when my dad got off and the Nazi's appeared, but it never went beyond that.
Night after night I would have this recurring dream, ending the same way. I do not know where I got those thoughts. They must have whispered something, or I had picked something up.
I never told my parents.