Day 45. Tar Wars

Not every day in the summer was exciting. We didn't always have escaped tigers or lions to hunt. Treasure hunting in garbage cans had come up empty. We didn't have any loose change to go to the Sheridan Park pool (it was ten cents each, plus an extra quarter for a basket), we had hula-hooped and played hopscotch until our legs were tired.

In the distance we could hear the ice cream truck which seemed to be doing circles around the neighborhood, tormenting us with it's melody. If we didn't have money for the pool, we most certainly did not have any for the ice cream truck. 

The Kool-aid popsicles my mom made would in her new Tupperware molds would have to do. They were OK, but for some reason nothing ever tasted as good as the freezer burned ice cream you could get from truck.

Earlier that day we had been having an alley war with the kids up the street. It wasn't what you thought - we used sticks, pointed it at each other and yelled 'BANG' when we would shoot our weapon. It was a fun game, but it was also hot outside so we had declared a cease fire.

So, of course, we turned our attention to the street. The city had just put a fresh layer of tar on the cracks. The sun was so hot that the thick black tar had begun to bubble. So, of course, Tommy, Patrick and I had been spending a great deal of time on the free entertainment of popping them, at first with sticks, and then with our hands.

It was a good thing the pool was out for the day since our swim suit bottoms had a good layer of gravel and dirt from sitting on the curb. My mom had filled the plastic wading pool on the side of the house and we used it to clean up in between bubble sessions.

I was deep in concentration, trying to guide ants into the tar pen I had created on the side of the street - my skill level was high in the herding of ants. I had once guided one from the back alley all the way to the back porch before it gave up and made a run for the grass. This time the tar pen I had made wasn't doing such a good job of keeping them in place, it could be that black tar and black ants aren't a good mix.

Anyway, I was getting close to meeting my all time record of 15 ants in one pen when *thwap* something hit me in the side of the head. I rubbed my head and looked around. Tommy and Patrick were both working on busting bubbles in the tar in front of them I checked behind me when *thwap* it happened again. 

"Hey!" yelled Patrick, "that hurt!". I turned just in time to see the opposing team running between the houses. It was the twins and their brother. I went over by my friends to see what was up. "They were throwing tar balls!" said Michael as he held his open hand up for me to inspect the marble sized piece of tar in his hand.

Although the tar ball could potentially leave a good sized red welt on your skin, it was much better than weapons that had been used in the past - holly hock grenades. These were made by sneaking up on a bee that had flown into a hollyhock, wrapping the petals of the flower around it, and then tossing the bee-bud at the enemy. Just so you know, bees don't like to participate in this practice and if you are any where near the bee when it escapes - you would get their full wrath.

Come on! I yelled. Grabbing some tar and running after them - even for as young as I was, I still had a fairly good arm. We found the target in their backyard and started returning fire. Of course, we did not have that much tar, so the stones on the ground became the next weapon of use.

Once a few yells of 'ow' were heard from both sides we decided that perhaps a second cease fire was needed. No one really wanted to hurt the others, it was just part of the game. We decided to return to the street and work at removing more tar from the filled in cracks.

We were joined by our adversaries and discovered a whole new activity. Creating tar sculptures sort of like chess pieces. We lined them up and took turns flicking stones and small tar balls at them. The team to knock down all of the opposing side's pieces won. We played the new game until Patrick's mom called him home for dinner.

By the next day cars had driven over our troops and we had to move along to other games. Besides, our mom's were not to thrilled with the stains on our clothes and hands. 

On the bright side, when I asked for thirty-five cents to go to the pool, it was handed over without hesitation.