There was a simple charm about the 50’s and 60’s. Quiet streets in northern Ontario were perfectly lined with cool, shady maple trees. Freshly painted doors greeted strangers and family alike. Children swarmed like bees from yard to yard gathering momentum until called indoors for dinner time. Radio Flyer bikes and tricycles, scooters and red wagons full of baseball bats, and cowboy attire were rounded up at dusk, and not released until the sun rose once again for another day of endless adventures.
Carriage houses, or in our case an old weathered barn with loft, stood as proud reminders of a period not dependant on cars or petrol. No electronic games or gadgetry could begin to compare with the memories fostered in that loft during our famous summertime sleepover. It was the perfect setting for our father, the “Story-Maker,” to weave his web of nail-biting mysteries and eye-popping bedtime stories, while bats swooped back and forth mere inches from our heads! Perhaps father felt more himself within the rustic walls of the barn, than inside the tastefully appointed rooms mother loved so well. Most likely his storytelling began around the open campfires in the Wild West, during harvest time. This soft-spoken man could capture the hearts of any audience by molding descriptive words the way a conductor frames musical notes into a finished symphony. Listening to father’s stories was like taking a ride on a verbal roller coaster. Each magical story began modestly, with a sprinkling of humor to tease, sound effects to draw one in further, vivid words to paint a bolder picture until reaching that a grand, awe-inspiring moment when all eager faces holding teddy bears would cheer and beg for more!
The 50’s and 60’s were character-building years. Not rich in finances, but wealthy beyond in imagination, creativity, and love. Thanks to my father, the “Story Maker.”
Early Childhood Memories of Church: Read THE CHURCH PEW: https://heavensjoylatte.com/the-church-pew/