Across the Black Top

I learned to ride my bike in a church parking lot.   We lived next door to the church.  My dad was the pastor and we lived in the "parsonage".    My entire world was that couple of acres on Elm Street.  It included a creek with a fort and a swamp, 2 old chicken coops and an old barn that was used by my oldest brother for breeding hamsters.  The yard held several fir trees that could probably have been classified as "old growth" and strung between them was a hammock--made by the hand of my ever-crafty grandmother who wove it out of bread bags.  (She didn't make it through the Depression just to throw out bread bags.)

The two church buildings were in plain view of  our home and separated from it by beautiful, smooth black-top. ( I remember when it was poured.) Almost whenever I fancied, I could skip across it to pay a visit to my dad and his sweet, elderly secretary Frieda.   When I went through my fear-of being-abducted stage ( I had made the mistake of reading a Reader's Digest "Drama in Real Life"),  I would make my mom watch me from the kitchen window until I reached the other side and safely ascended the church stairs.  Whenever there was something going on at church, it seemed like the parking lot was full of kids running crazily around afterwards.  We might even venture back to our yard and terrorize each other on the hammock.  It was an amazing experience to have the entire church property as your playground.  I still remember my brother holding on to my  blue bike with awesome banana seat and running behind while I wobbled and peddled and  screamed for him to not let go.  He was pretty patient for a high school kid with better stuff to do.

On the days with events I wasn't a part of, I would sit in a chair at the window and stare across the parking lot and watch the comings and goings.  Of particular interest to me were weddings.  I loved to watch the bride and groom come sweeping down the stairs, being showered with rice or bird seed (remember bird seed?) and run to their decorated car.  Lines of cars would chase the newlyweds, honking all the way.    And then, there was the time I had strep throat and missed out on my brother & sister-in-law's Oregon wedding reception.  I was left at home to sit in that chair and watch my friends run and play in my yard while the mature guests ate cake in the fellowship hall and missed out on seeing me in my flower-girl finery.  It was almost more than I could take!

Various other moments come to mind where the parking lot was as far as I was allowed to see.  The dieter's support group's arrival, teenagers arriving and loading up on retreat bound buses.  Scroungy looking people pulling in for a hand-out or free counseling.  This was my view as a young child growing up.  It offered all the possibilities for adventure and diversity that I could hope for.   If I were lucky, the cars pulling up would have a passel of kids they'd let out and I'd run out to play.  If not, there was always the bike to ride.