Park life

The house in Guelph where I grew up was on Metcalfe Street opposite St. George’s Park, an idyllic place for an only child like me. If I got tired of indoor games, there was always something to do right out the front door: the swing set across the street.
Once, for no reason at all, I took a hammer and a screwdriver from my father’s tool box, walked well into the park, and hammered that screwdriver right into the ground. I never told him and, as far as I know, he never missed that particular screwdriver.
I could walk you today right to the very spot where I did the deed because it was close to a cement horse trough on Grange Street on the south side of the park.
The horse trough was unused and never held any water during my time even though horse-drawn vehicles still delivered milk and bakery goods when I was a tad.
As I grew older there was usually some group in the park for a pick-up baseball game in summer or hockey on the flooded tennis courts in winter. I readily admit I was never very good at sports and tended to be among the last player picked.
Much better for me were the summer city-sponsored programs enjoyed by dozens of kids at a time. The programs were run five days a week by teenaged leaders who oversaw games, painting, and other outdoor activities. In a group like that, anyone can fit in.
However, there was also “knifie” a version of baseball against tougher guys who lived further south on Grange Street and carried their own jackknives.
To play knifie, both players straddled the same seat on a park bench facing each other, opened up the knife halfway, then flipped it in the air – not too high  – so it landed on the point of the blade. If it didn’t stick after three tries, you were out for that inning. When it did stick and stay, the distance measured with fingers from the bench seat to the upward end of the knife meant anything from a single to a home run. All of which you remembered in your head.
As a result, I grew up knowing a wide range of kids who lived in good homes as well as others who were less well-off. Dealing with both as equals was the best possible life lesson.