My Turn: A rich childhood without much money
"Winters didn't seem as long as they do now. With no video games to keep us busy, we would warm up at home with hot chocolate and spend hours playing Monopoly, Clue or card games like Old Maid, Knuckles or War," says Fay Scally of her childhood. Credit: iStock
Growing up in the '50s, I think many of us can identify with being "poor," especially after seeing our own children grow up and enjoy things we never dreamed of having.
My home in Whitestone was one of the row houses on 149th Street. My mother said we were lucky to live on a bus route because after a snowstorm, the buses would eventually get through, and we'd begin to see some cars on the road.
Large snowstorms or blizzards would cause life to stop for a few days until roads were no longer considered "impassable." As a kid, I loved impassable, as that allowed us to sleigh ride for as long as we could brave the cold without worrying about a car interfering with our fun! Snowstorms always closed schools, giving us a day or two extra to build a snow fort and engage in snowball fights with the neighborhood kids. And when the snow was gone, if we were lucky enough to own a pair of ice skates that still fit, we would bundle up in two or three layers and walk a mile or so to Bound Park to skate with our friends. The park was usually crowded with other kids who would form "whips" -- long chains of kids holding hands and skating as fast as they could. If I wasn't part of the whip, I always made sure I stayed out of its way, as colliding with one would definitely land me flat on my rear!
Bikes were essential and provided hours of fun with friends as we explored other parts of town. My brother and I shared a red bicycle that turned out to be the same bike my mother rode during her childhood. My brother had first dibs because he had a paper route. When we finally did get our own bikes, we thought we had died and gone to heaven!
Winters didn't seem as long as they do now. With no video games to keep us busy, we would warm up at home with hot chocolate and spend hours playing Monopoly, Clue or card games like Old Maid, Knuckles or War. Like most other homes, there was only one TV, in the living room.
It was the room where we did all the playing and where we had our birthday parties with cake, ice cream and lots of games. Kids' programs were limited to "Howdy Doody" and cartoons like "Farmer Gray," so we amused ourselves by erecting a tent in the living room over the couch or chair, using a blanket and a broom from the kitchen.
Toys were not plentiful . . . I remember playing with pencils, pens and a stapler. With a lot of imagination, the pencils became women; the pens were men and the stapler was a horse or dog.
The unfurnished attic provided many hours of exploration as we put our hands under floor boards and looked for treasures that were left by the family that owned the house before us.
My mother, like most other moms, didn't work, so she had time to be creative. One year for Christmas I got a teenage doll I called Miss Stuart, after my fourth-grade teacher. The doll came with an old suitcase that was filled to the brim with doll clothes -- dungarees, shirts, pajamas -- even a green evening gown and fur stole. My mother made every one of those outfits, sewing them by hand from scraps of material. I also inherited a large wooden dollhouse from my cousin. My mother took cigarette and toothpaste boxes, covered them with construction paper and turned them into couches, beds and appliances.
We had so many kids in our neighborhood, and summer days were spent under sprinklers, swimming in wading pools, playing "I Declare War." We had jump rope and Hula-Hoop contests. Lou, the ice cream vendor, would come every night, and if we were lucky, we had a dime and could buy a treat.
Nights could be so hot. We had one oscillating fan in our house, and often my sister and I would go in the middle of the night and lie on my parents' bedroom floor to cool off.
With summer came the hope that we might be lucky enough to go on vacation. My parents had a piggy bank and painted on it were the words, "Lake George or bust!" All year long, they would put in coins and extra dollars and hope that, come summer, there would be enough money to get us to Lake George. Our accommodations were a two-room cabin, about a block from the beach. We would spend the entire day at the lake. We had a funny story that would get retold each trip to Lake George; it was about my aunt Patty, who lost her moccasin on the beach one summer, and saw it the next year at Fort William Henry, displayed in the showcase of Indian artifacts.
What a happy time we had growing up. My parents are no longer here to thank, and so, frequently, I say a prayer, thanking them for the solid years they gave us. We had nothing, and yet I thought we had everything. Such a simple way to be happy -- focusing on all that you have in your life and never lamenting what's not there.
-Fay Scally,Old Bethpage
