“This is the one time when I really want a sibling.”
Miles, the only child, doesn’t lament being an only child very often. On a snow day. Home alone without a sister or a brother…yeah, it surfaces. Luckily I had both.
Snowball fights at Brandywine Stable on the edge of the Delaware Park backside. Sheila, Joey and I against Dad. The day Dad threw a perfectly timed fast ball at Joey. He ducked and the head-high, brush-back pitch went straight through the garage window and clattered across the garage floor. The four of us froze in disbelief, waiting for the reaction. Dad cackled and wound up for another throw. Game on.
Sledding down our icy driveway on Strawbridge’s farm in Pennsylvania. Joey and I belly low on our Flexible Flyers hugging the S turns like Andretti and Ongais. Joey’s sled, older and broken in like an old baseball mitt. Mine, newer, stiffer, slower. In the right conditions, we could blow past the mailbox and across 841 into the King Ranch gate.
Street hockey games late into the night in front of the garage floodlight on the same farm. Joey, Chip and I. Three on 0, two on one, one on one with a goalie, every once in a while Sheila and Blythe thrown into the mix. Tears and fists ending a few games. One of us calling the games…Tremblay to Lafleur to Shutt and a beaut by Parent. Clark to Barber to Leach…through the five hole of Dryden…the Flyers win game seven….
Ice hockey on frozen ponds. A couple of boots as goals. A few us slapping wooden Sherwood hockey sticks, others sweeping brooms, a Mylec street hockey stick or two, figure skates, Bauer Turbos and yeah, a lucky one or two in a pair of Super Tacks. Don’t miss to the far side or the puck will disappear in the drain. And we only have one puck. A bonfire, hot chocolate at the scalding ready. A couple of dogs, a parent or two. Just be home by dark.
Oh, the snow days and the siblings of my youth.
