The Front Steps

Picture the old front steps. Wooden. Paint chipped by a thousand footfalls and the bounce of rubber balls. Porch- grey paint, tending toward blue, a nice contrast to the green grass. Just sit, back against the front door and revel in the twin comforts embedded here. Safe harbor to domestic comfort and launching pad for adventure just around the corner.

In the morning, my father would sit on these steps reading the paper. The sun was up, warm fingers spreading down through the branches of the ancient maple. Dad seemed energized by the tranquil early hour as he quickly skimmed through the morning edition digging for good news wherever he could find it. Quick check of the sports: Yankees in first. Beetle Bailey in trouble. All systems normal.

After five minutes, he'd fold the pages neatly and tuck them under his arm. There was something deliberate about the gesture. Civilized. A good man takes the world into his embrace, good and bad, and heads off to work. It gives one the sense of control, of leashing destiny into measure rectangles.

Later into morning the steps would be home field to all kinds of spontaneous sporting events, games fueled by the imagination and the economy of neighborhood numbers. There was Mini Baseball for the youngsters where hits and runs were determined by rolling marbles through the obstacles placed by nature and the cracking sidewalks. Scores were kept meticulously and on a slow day could run into the triple digits. As my friends and I got older, step ball became an obsession. All you needed was an even number of players and a ten-cent rubber ball. Hits and runs were compiled by the distance the ball traveled when smacked off the ragged edge of the second step. Foul balls were outs. Homeruns required the ball to travel across the street in the air. The batter needed a strong arm and enough luck to avoid fouling into the aluminum storm door. The fielder needed enough-speed and dexterity to prevent the score from running too high and reaching the shame of basketball numbers!

Evening crawled slowly. The steps became safe home for games of hide and seek. I remember one summer night in particular. A full moon made the neighborhood seem unusually bright. One group of kids sat talking on the steps, others, determined hiders, crouched laughing safe in the distant darkness. It was the end of vacation and the night was sweet with the lingering freedom of summer hovering right there above our heads. I sat with my back up against the door savoring this perfect moment. Bats jetted overhead gorging themselves silently on insects. I was intrigued by the coming darkness rolling down Cumberland Avenue. Soon I would venture off to High School and beyond. And yet here and now I was content with the feel of the front door at my back, and the beckoning view from up here on the third step of the old front porch. I peered down the block into the hazy distance knowing that soon I would leap from the safety of these steps into the arms of the unknown future. But not now. Not tonight. Not while there were games to play and the laughter of friends waiting to come safely home.