Light of My Life

Posted by Terri Elders in HandPrints Stories & Videos | 1 comment

Copyright Terri Elders

The Long Beach Police Department assigned my husband to rotating shifts the year our son, Steve, started first grade. So Bob slept mornings and worked evenings. On weekends often he’d pull a day shift. Our schedules rarely jibed.

“I feel like a single parent,” I’d initially complained.

“It won’t be forever, so try to make the most of it.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that you’ve got a job, even if you won’t be around much.”

“You’ll love having Steve all to yourself,” Bob replied, smiling.

So for three years, from September to June, life flowed predictably. Steve and I would rise, dress, grab breakfast, and go. Steve trotted to his school across the street from our apartment complex. I caught a bus to the high school where I taught English.

At dusk we’d perch together at the kitchen counter. Steve plowed through his homework while I corrected papers. Then we’d sizzle up a batch of Jiffy Pop, and watch Ozzie and Harriet or The Patty Duke Show. Unless it was the rare night with Bob home, we’d be asleep by 10. The steady plodding backbeat of school bells kept us on track.

In summer our days picked up a jazzier syncopated pace, crammed with options and choices. Frequently we’d ride the bus to the NuPike Arcade at Rainbow Pier, where we’d chuckle with the Laughing Lady who towered over the entrance, or get lost in the maze in the Hall of Mirrors. After stuffing ourselves with Pronto Pups and salt-water taffy, we’d hit the Skee-Ball alleys. Often we’d close our day by treating ourselves to a ride on the double Ferris wheel, where, from the top, we could see all of downtown Long Beach.

Or we’d visit one of the Ocean Boulevard movie theaters. The first time we exited Mary Poppins we tried to sing, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” and got it just as wrong as Jane and Michael did in the film. Steve giggled until he hiccupped. Another summer we saw Born Free, and Steve ducked his head to hide his tears when Elsa, the lioness, wandered off into the jungles of Meru National Park.

Sometimes we’d just stroll to the nearby library branch to check out stacks of books. Steve had his own library card and favored the Encyclopedia Brown mysteries. On the bus trips to the NuPike, the movies, or the park he’d devise possible ways for the clever boy detective to foil his nemesis, Bugs Meany.

If he were on the day shift, Bob would swing by our apartment on his lunch hour to transport us to Recreation Park in his patrol car. We’d pack up sandwiches, and grab a blanket and our books. Steve would play in the sprinklers, climb the monkey bars in the playground, and then plop beside me to discuss Encyclopedia Brown.

After work Bob would join us, bringing along the picnic basket, Coleman lantern and stove, and our portable radio. We’d broil hot dogs, listen to Vin Scully call the Dodger game, and stay until the mercury vapor lamps flickered on. We’d pack our equipment back in the car, and then Steve loved to turn the dial that slowly snuffed out the wick on the gas-powered Coleman lamp.

Bob had been right. I’d enjoyed spending time alone with Steve, witnessing first hand his developing interests, skills and attitudes. So by the summer of ’66 I decided to quit teaching and become a caseworker with Los Angeles County. My evenings and weekends wouldn’t be consumed by lessons plans and correcting homework. Though I’d forfeit future lazy summers with Steve, I’d have more time for him year-round. It seemed a fair trade.

Steve knew this would be our last entire summer together.

“Let’s go to the beach more this year. I’m going to save my Skee-Ball points for something extra-special.”

The previous summer he’d exchanged his points for a Battleship board game…the year before, a GI Joe action figure and a bag of marbles.

“So what’s extra-special? A baseball mitt? A chemistry set?”

Steve grinned and shook his head. “Not telling…you gotta guess.”

In the ‘60s, Skee-Ball had not yet gone electronic. With its abbreviated alleys and baseball-sized plastic balls, Skee-Ball appealed to kids too small to bowl, and to the moms who accompanied them to the Pike. Moms formed a queue to snag a free alley while the kids scrutinized display cases filled with potential prizes.

After three summers Steve knew how to bowl his nine balls for maximum effect. He’d even bank some balls against the side of the ramp to try to reach the holes with higher designated point values. His scores steadily improved over the summer.

Shortly before the start of the new school year, Steve and I took our final bus ride to Rainbow Pier.

“I’ve got a lot of points, Mom. Guess what I’m getting.”

“Legos? Roller skates?”

Steve shook his head.

“A Daisy Red Ryder Pump Gun? Lincoln Logs?”

Yet another shake and a giggle.

“An electric train? No? I give up. I’m not Encyclopedia Brown!”

Steve chuckled. “You gave up, so you’ll just have to wait and see.”

To celebrate summer’s end we splurged on a pair of root beer floats at Nathan’s. We even took a spin on the famed Looff carousel, even though Steve earlier had protested that at eight he was too old for merry-go-rounds. I insisted that if I weren’t too old for a ride, neither was he.

We finally proceeded to the arcade.

“You wait here, Mom.”

I watched Steve sprint towards the prize stand, wondering what he’d select. A few minutes later he came back, carrying a bag nearly the size as himself.

“I’ll show you what I picked out on our ride home,” he said, grinning up at me.

As the bus turned from Ocean Boulevard onto Atlantic Avenue, Steve reached into his bag.

First, he dragged out a Slinky. I knew that popular inexpensive toy would barely take a bite out of his accumulated points. Then he dug in again. “And an Etch-a-Sketch.”

I nodded, but I privately wondered if he might have been cheated. I knew he had far more points than those two things could cost.

He glanced at me. “And something else,” he whispered. He fumbled around inside the bag, and then pulled out a gaudily painted seashell-encrusted lava lamp.

“I got this for you, Mom,” he said. “We’ve had so much fun at the Pike. The shells will remind you of the beach. And it’s turquoise, like the ocean.”

That fall I started work as a caseworker, so never again had entire summers free. My husband eventually returned to working normal day shifts. Steve reached the age where he preferred spending weekends playing Stratego and Risk with the boys next door to taking bus trips with his mom.

Decades later lava lamps became prime examples of ‘60s kitsch. Mine, though, remained a treasure, an extra-special gift from my extra-special son, until it somehow disappeared in moves from one home to another.

But that incandescent summer of ‘66 shines on…I’ll never forget the warm August sun at the old Long Beach NuPike, and those carefree splashy days with my son…who forever has remained the light of my life.

Photo of Encylopedia Brown by House on the Corner
Photo of Skeeball by http://bit.ly/lCxQoV
Photo of Lava Lamp by The Quiet Poet