North Vancouver Local Customs

When we were young we used to play Cowboys and Indians the whole long day
We'd ride for hours upon a 'horse' and circle the wagon's if attacked in force.
As time went by our play it changed and we no longer rode upon the range
But acquired guns, and, as our army grew, the shots they rang, as our foes we slew.

Now and then we'd beat retreat and pool our coins and go buy sweets.
Then sit in forts perched high in trees and gaze down on the world in a peaceful ease.

Like clockwork almost every year some new fad would then appear, Hoola-hoops and pogo-sticks
Frisbees and some yo-yo tricks. We'd carry jars to distant ponds, and fight through bracken, ferns and fronds
Then scoop up tadpoles and take them home, to watch frogs emerge from light green foam.

There was no wall we could not scale, no fence was built could be our jail
There was no tree we could not climb, the higher the branches, the more sublime.

As the day grew long the air would ring
With our mothers calls as our names they'd sing
And we'd shuffle home and watch T.V.
In the living room with our family
As dinner neared, our mom's would implore
Us to go wash our hands, pleas we chose to ignore
Until something in the tone of her voice
Told us we had no other choice.

With T.V. on we'd sit and eat
Some fried pork chops or other meat
Some mashed potatoes and canned cream corn
"Eat all your dinner" our dad might warn.

We'd sit up straight when it was time for dessert,
A bowl of Jell-O or canned pears in syrup
Some custard with some cold canned plums
Or maybe rice pudding mixed with plump raisons
And, depending on the light left in the day
There still might be time left to go out and play.

But eventually we'd be called inside
And, with a bathtub filling, there'd be few places to hide
From our mothers arms we'd try to dash
But, once in the tub we'd swim and splash.

We'd do three laps and take a mouthful of air
Then go under water and wash our hair.
We'd get toweled off, and with the day's dirt now gone
We'd hurry to get our P.J's on
And then we'd beg to stay up awhile
Using our charm, our wit, our guile
But if that didn't work, and it rarely did
We'd pay attention to our dad when he said, "Get to bed, kid"

We'd slink away as slow as snails
And tell each other scary tales
Of witches sleeping under stairs
Who'd grab for kids who caught unawares.

Soon enough we'd be in bed
And wait for stories to be read
Uncle Wiggly or Dr. Seuss
Or a Golden Book that we might choose
Then we'd drift to sleep after having been tucked in
And safely slumber there before a new day could begin.