Some childhood memories popped up this morning through the “I Grew Up in Elkhart Indiana” Facebook page. It was a thread all about Carolyn Avenue, the street that I grew up on. I lived there from adoption through the fifth grade before moving to the other side of town. I attended Rice Elementary school, with only one busy street to cross on my uphill walk to classes. Teacher names like Miss Graham, Mrs. Anderson, Mrs. Wilkens, Mr. Havens, and Mr. Collins come to mind, as well as several neighbors. The Krider family lived next door, across the street were the Herzbergs, and just down the block on Baker Drive, the Ongs. Several other names like the Smiths, Conns, and Morrows also brought back distant memories. 

The house hosted my mom’s bridge club and Indian Guide meetings. There was a big picture window in the living room that also served as my mom and dad’s bedroom. We typically gathered downstairs to watch TV, open Christmas presents, or pretend we were operating a store in the cardboard house that we put together from a kit one year. The other side of the lower level was unfurnished and a bit spooky, where the furnace lived. I could dribble the basketball around it if I ducked to avoid the pipes. The only bathroom was upstairs.

I remember the park behind our house and the creek that kept me contained to the neighborhood. The dirt hill that ran beside my bedroom window was an access road to the park but served as a toboggan run in the winter. City park volunteers would keep us busy with arts & crafts, treasure hunts, and games. There was a basketball goal, playhouse, monkey bars, swings, a baseball diamond, and picnic tables, as I recall. Bad memories included a tree limb that fell on me, a rock that I failed to dodge, a sharp stick in the eye, and an escaped panther from the circus that haunted my dreams. The creek was alive with turtles, frogs, and polliwogs. It was a great place to grow up.

My neighbors taught me about baseball card and coin collecting that have become lifelong hobbies. I got my first kiss in that neighborhood and played strip poker one day. I also learned all about the stock market and ticker tapes that enabled me in later life to eventually buy my first car. Weaver’s Market was within walking distance but much easier to get to by bicycle, with cards attached to the spokes with clothes pins to make it sound more like a motorcycle (Although motorcycles lost their appeal when my neighbor lost a leg in an accident). The neighbor on the other side had a sailboat and convinced my dad to own one, too.  It was a great place to grow up in the fifties – Carolyn Avenue.