Red Rover Red Rover

“Red Rover, Red Rover, let Danny come over!”

Summer vacations lasted forever when I was a kid in the Heights. In the evenings, we chased fireflies, rode our bikes until called in by anxious parents, and occasionally gathered together various ages to play games in the Shank’s front yard.

“Red Light, Green Light” was another favorite, which in my memory I confuse with “Statues.” In both cases, to be caught moving when the leader whirled around was failure. None of us tolerated failure.

“I did not!”

“You did so!”

Too much noise and Mom put a stop to our outdoor play in the dark.

My brothers and their friends played something on their bikes they called “Midnight Marauders,” but I’m not sure if they caused any actual mischief or just planned the impossible.

We were gullible in those days. We knew, for example, if you opened a golf ball, it would explode, and somehow, we could make a homemade bomb by unrolling the insides like a fuse. Right up there with making bread from grass tips. Well, you could smush them and add water, but…yuck. And we won’t even bring up acorn butter.

My favorite pastime, in any season, was to walk back and forth to my current best friend’s house where we spent time in each other’s bedrooms gossiping. Although Jeanette never gossiped. She’d share news, but was never unkind about anyone at any time. A memorable role-model.

She offered information once that stunned me.

“You’ve never been spanked? Not even once? NOT EVEN YELLED AT?”

In my family, the last was commonplace. We weren’t the most easy-going or well-behaved half-dozen children in the Heights.

Once dusk settled, I was allowed to walk Jeanette halfway home. Deciding midpoint took experiment and several trials. There were times when we walked each other “halfway home” until the stars came out.

Like so many friends, I lost sight of Jeanette after high school, and learned about her by serendipity, and once, from a connection I now can’t recall.

A home health care nurse. It figured. For someone as kind and patient as Jeanette, the career was perfect.

Occasionally, I’d think about our walks and talks, and wonder about her again. And her amazing family. Her sweet younger sister, her scrumptious and handsome brother who could play guitar and sing like an angel. Her older sisters, one quiet and elegant, the other engaged to a farmer, one of my early dreams. “I’ll marry a farmer and have twelve children,” I’d announce to my friends.

Some dreams are best left in the past.

Jeanette’s brother gave me an update this week that wrenched my heart.

Jeanette lost her gallant fight to a rare cancer.

She’ll be missed by more than her five children, grandchildren, and siblings.

She’s long been missed by me.

Ken said that her daughter sent him a timeline of some of her memories, including a school newspaper that she and Don Roe and I created called the Daily Turtle. Really? I have no memory of this, though it fits.

Thinking about childhood games, there’s another we played called “Telephone,” where we sat in a circle and whispered a statement down the line, until the last person repeated out loud what was heard. It was never the original.

You know, Jeanette would have gotten the message right.

To you, my friend, to all my friends, here or missing or gone ahead, I thank you for the joy you gave me.

To Ken, who kept me informed.

All of you helped make everything that’s good in me.

The Daily Turtle? I’d love to see a copy! Keep writing columns in it, Jeanette. Don and I will join you when it’s our turn.