Dad could tell many stories,
But it seemed they were always the same,
Talking about his childhood,
And how the world was his to claim.
~~~~~~~~
A stick, a ball, an old empty can,
Marbles in a small sack,
No store bought toys or fancy clothes,
His family and friends called him Mack.
He walked along in his knickers,
A dusty black cap on his head,
Cardboard made a sole for his boot,
The suspenders he wore were red.
Beside him was his spotted dog,
The most loyal friend he had,
The year was Nineteen Twenty one,
And he was just a young lad.
All the neighbors along the way,
Hollered greetings as he passed,
On his way to the general store,
This stop would be his last;
Before he got to the empty lot,
Where he would spend his day,
With his stick, his ball and marbles,
And friends with which to play.
With a nickel in his pocket,
He filled a bag with sweets,
To share with all his buddies,
As they made their way through the streets.
At the lot they'd play kick the can,
And baseball with their sticks,
Taking the time to rest awhile,
Inspecting their marbles for nicks.
He walked back home at sunset,
A couple more steelies in his bag,
The cardboard in his boot worn out,
His knickers beginning to sag.
He'd yell goodbye to all his pals,
As sunset slowly unfurled,
With his friends, his marbles and loyal dog,
He felt he owned the world.