WILKES-BARRE — Independence Day is almost here, so fire up your grill, hang your flag, and get ready to celebrate America’s 250th Birthday!
Nothing brings back memories of the good old days more than gathering in somebody’s backyard with a red, white, and blue paper plate filled with a hot dog, hamburg, potato salad, potato chips, and a few pickles.
And don’t forget, the party don’t start until the baked beans come out.
It’s a time for lifelong friends to gather and for families to catch up on the latest news.
There will probably be a marble cake decorated like an American flag.
And there will be some alcohol consumed — in moderation, of course.
The grand finale will likely be a spectacular fireworks display filled with oohs and ahhs from the crowd.
These times take me back to those halcyon days at North Lake and Lake Silkworth and Harveys Lake and Melody Park. Days when mom and dad and I would pile in the family car, head down Route 11 to the creek road, and head to our destination. Or we would go over the mountain to the Dallas Memorial Highway. It all depended on where we were gathering that particular day.
At our destination’s end, there were lots of people — our friends and family — all setting up for the day’s fun and feast. I can still hear the voices of those people, and I can even recall some of the conversations — the men were talking about sports and the women about sales, bargains, and haircuts.
When the first round of meals was over, the kids would head to the water for a dip while the adults played cards — the men played poker, and the women chose partners for pinochle or Pokeno.
At some point, the grills would be flaming once again, and another meal would be served. It was a day-long celebration of country, community, and friendship.
Back in the day, these get-togethers happened weekly. We didn’t require a holiday to celebrate each other. We valued our friends, and we enjoyed spending time together. These were special times, indeed.
Small-town living was the absolute best. Each town had its own identity, and all residents were proud to say where they were from, and they could sing the words to their Alma mater.
In 1966, the last class of Plymouth High School graduated, and with that, small-town life seemed to be over. We felt it was the beginning of the end for life as we knew it — and it was a good life at that.
We walked to school in the morning, went home for lunch, went back for the afternoon, and walked home after school. We wore the red and black of the Shawnee Indians, and we chanted “Shawnee Against the World.”
Our neighborhoods were safe. Our doors were never locked. Our phones had to be dialed and sometimes shared with the neighbor. We sat on our porches. We talked across the street. We raided each other’s fruit trees and gardens.
And we had cookouts in backyards and in pavilions at a lake.
It was good to remember those times with friends who share the same memories.
So I decided to fire up the Way Back Machine and travel back to one Independence Day of my youth.
When I arrived, Mom and Dad were busy packing up things to take to the Plymouth Little League annual outing at Melody Park.
Mom was making sandwiches and potato salad and gathering everything in a basket to haul it all into the car. Dad was getting bathing suits, towels, a few beers on ice, and checking the car over for the trip.
Once the car was loaded, off we went, out to the Dallas Highway to that turn just before the Ranch Wagon. About seven miles down Demunds Road, we would turn onto a dirt road, and Melody Park would appear.
It was a grand site — sheltered pavilions, a large swimming hole, basketball courts of clay, a big grassy baseball field, swings, teeter totters, and kids everywhere.
We would park the car next to the pavilion and unload everything. The early arrivals were already setting up, getting tablecloths on the wooden tables, and charcoal grills were already flaming, providing the best hot dogs and hamburgs you would ever taste.
This was all vividly depicted in my dream. I swear, for a brief time, I was there at Melody Park again.
As soon as I got there, I wanted to run to meet my buddies. We would play basketball, baseball, and swim.
After our swim, we would grab something to eat, and then the games would begin. The best one was the egg-tossing contest. Kids would stand facing each other, and one was given a raw egg.
The contest began with handing the egg to your partner, then both would take a step back. After each toss, another step back, and you kept going. As the distance widened, eggs would be dropped or smashed in one’s hand.
The contest would go on until the last two egg-catchers were standing. The trick was to cup your hands and get under the egg and catch it as you pulled your hands back.
As teams were eliminated, the kids would jump in the water to wash the egg off their hands, faces, or feet.
One thing is for sure, it was a day filled with fun.
America at its very best.
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Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.