I grew up in a small town, that isn’t so small anymore. Today, my childhood hometown is quite large, pushing a population of 100,000 and still growing. However, back in the 70’s the population was 7,000. We had a Dog N Suds, an A & W Restaurant with a working fireplace in the middle where you could sit around and eat, a library, a bowling alley, an IGA, and all the other regular assorted small-town shops and stops that make a small town complete.
In the summer I would eat breakfast and go outside to play following two simple rules, don’t leave the neighborhood and be back by dark. Our play range in the summer included a neighborhood of two blocks and one dead end street. The western boundary of our neighborhood was a farm’s hay field. This farm and our neighborhood were divided simply by a curb at the end of the road, and in some backyards a fence, or for most homes, no fence. This farm also had an assortment of woods here and there which our crew of young children found completely acceptable to go and explore. We spent hours in the stream, catching frogs, getting super muddy, and playing out all sorts of imaginary play scenarios. I would come home at the end of the day and dad would say, “Well. It looks like you have been busy.” He never described it as “dirty,” only “busy.”
Sometimes the evening bath required a shower first, just to knock off the day’s busy activities.
My granny lived around the “long” block and it was not uncommon to float around the neighborhood and stop in or be on a walk and wave or chat for a bit, or, more likely, stop in for a bite to eat. Granny Edy always had something on hand to lay out a quick spread for any hot and hungry summer children. She would give my mother a quick call to let her know she had taken care of lunch for us, and then out we went again into the summer heat to live our summer lives.
I liked summer.
My brother and I would sometimes be together playing or spend equal amounts of time off with our own crews, happily intersecting as one bike group passed another, or seeing each other in the woods or down the street.
Summer was also a time for watering all my mother’s flowers she had around the outside of the house. I loved helping water the plants because it involved water. There is something so pleasing about holding a hose and watching the water pour out. I’d be barefoot holding that hose and practice placing my thumb or finger over the hose to make it spray or shower. And it was during one of those watering sessions that this little tragedy occurred.
My neighbors were two boys, one my age, and one a little younger, closer to my younger brother’s age, but still a year older than him. We would all play together and just as often, not. We were not all exactly a great fit when it came to personalities. The neighbors would want to play football, and would need players, so, of course they would want my younger brother to play, but not me. I remember them saying, “You can be the cheerleader. Girls don’t play football.”
I would think, ‘Why would I want to be your cheerleader? Why would I want to cheer you on to victory when you won’t let me play?’ So, you can begin to see where we might have a fragment of a philosophical difference of opinion.
During one of those young summers, I was watering the flowers on the side of the house between our two houses when the younger brother, Darren, came from behind his house and found me there watering. I must have looked like I had been rather busy that day, (remember, we don’t call it dirty, we call it busy) when Darren felt it his young masculine duty to inform me of how ugly I looked, how un-lady like I always acted, and how I didn’t know how to be a real girl. He recounted how his family all talked about me and couldn’t believe I was allowed to act like I did. He proudly called me a Tom-boy, and not in any good way, and on and on he went while my freckled face just stared at him. The hose I was holding continued to flow forth a cool stream of water, over soaking, I am sure, one of my mother’s prized flower plants as my hand had frozen in position from my watering duties as I attended to the sounds coming out of his mouth.
I really couldn’t understand why he thought he was going to be able to talk to me that way. Obviously, he had not thought it through. By his very description of me, he should have realized he had miscalculated the situation and where all those comments were going to take us.
I kept hearing his voice but stopped listening to the words. I can still feel this day in my head. I can hear the summer day playing out in the background and feel the gentle breeze moving over my skin. It was picking up the cool particles of water coming off the stream pouring out of the hose.
When he stopped with his little man exercise. I gave him a two second head start. I continued to stare at him knowing exactly what I was about to do. He should have seen it coming, but he didn’t. I drenched him so thoroughly from head to toe. He froze in place and started yelling for me to stop. ‘Did he really think I was going to stop?’ I continued to drench him just as long as he thought he was going to be able to stand there and be in charge of my actions.
“I told you to stop!” he yelled. I moved the hose to his face and he had to close his mouth. He just stood there like we were in some kind of standoff. ‘Fine. Get as wet as you want, I thought. I’m not moving the hose off you.’
I never said a word. I just kept staring at him watching the cool water pour all over him.
He started complaining he was “dressed up” and didn’t I notice he was dressed up, and that it was my fault he was now wet and how I was going to get into trouble because he was supposed to be going somewhere. I moved the hose to his face again.
He finally relented his position in the soil and left to go back around to his house. I heard him yell to his mother at the back door of his house.
Our houses were close enough that I noticed some movement in one of the windows at the side of his house. I think it was his mother standing back from one of the open windows, but I couldn’t be sure.
No matter. I knew I was going to be in trouble. I had just waterlogged our neighbor, younger than me, and in his good clothes. And more than likely, his mother watched me do it. Totally caught.
I finished watering and put away the hose. I slowly walked into the house and found mom and dad in the kitchen. I told them exactly what happened, word-for-word, action-for-action, and I saw dad’s face reveal a little smirky smile. Mom gave him that quiet look of “no don’t” – and he tried to cover it up- but too late- I saw it. However, when it came to things like this…. I knew I would still get in trouble. We just were not allowed to be rude. Even if Darren was being rude first, I should not have watered him down and soaked him.
I was directed to go back outside and stay close. I remember sitting around that day, watching the summer day flow by. Hours went by and I watched as our neighbors’ blue Suburban returned from wherever had required dressing up. I’m guessing Darren had to do a quick re-dress that morning.
It was shortly afterward I saw the dreaded conversation of the mothers over the back fence. Well, here it comes. Darren’s mother is telling the horrible tale of the morning soaking. The soaking that must have made them late for whatever event they just returned from. I had found a quiet vantage point to peek at the two mothers, each standing in their square of back yard. Darren’s mother gave my mother a quick pat on the hand, and the conversation was over.
Mom returned to the house and shortly after called me in for dinner. I slumped into the house and washed up for dinner, ready for my fate. We ate dinner and nothing was said about the soaking. My folks and brother chatted about their day, but the topic of appropriate uses of water did not come up.
We got ready for bed, said loving good nights, and the topic of how to properly use the hose did not come up.
I woke up the next morning and nothing was said. So, out I went into the summer world, not in trouble. It felt weird. I kept thinking any moment I was finally going to get into trouble. But it never came.
Funny thing was, I didn’t see Darren for a while after that. I saw his brother- but not him. He was “inside” for well over a week. It appears trouble did come, but not for me. Instead, it decided to play tag-your-it with Darren’s mouth and attitude toward girls.
I was never so thankful for someone eaves dropping though an open window as I was that summer.
As educators, we often find ourselves in a unique position, observing interactions and dynamics among our students they may not be fully aware of. We don’t see everything, but we do see a lot. We witness firsthand the subtle nuances of social dynamics, including who tends to be the target of unkind words or actions, and who may use aggression as a defense mechanism. Our role extends beyond academics; we also bear responsibility for nurturing a positive social and emotional environment within our schools. By recognizing these dynamics, and the role we play, we can intervene to foster understanding, empathy, and respect among our students.
Our guidance and interventions can sometimes have unseen, but profound, effects on the social landscape of our students’ lives. Through our vigilance and proactive efforts, we can endeavor to create safe and inclusive spaces where all students can thrive, free from the constraints of harmful stereotypes or unfair treatment.
Darren’s clothes dried, our lives lived on, and summers came again and again until we finally glided into our adult lives. I think back on what that conversation between the mothers included. Both of our mothers were teachers, and both had a clear understanding of the value of appropriate consequences and how they provide avenues for growth.
I found out quite a while back Darren had gone into youth ministry and was trying to make a go of establishing himself with a social media presence. I watched one of the videos he put out of him standing under an umbrella with hundreds of marbles raining down. He was making an analogy of protecting yourself from all the hundreds of things that can come at you. I smiled and thought, ‘I bet one of those marbles has my name on it Darren.’