Rock Tennis

We used to spend hours on our bikes when we were kids. Who didn't? We often didn't ride them though. We sat on them, waiting. Waiting for cars to drive by so we could yell, "Honk your horn!" Our goal was to have unsuspecting drivers hear our plea and become willing participants in our game.

This was long before they widened the street (two lanes became four), and before they installed a stop light on Plum Grove Road. Cars would mostly be running at full speed by the time they passed us, many getting our request too late, or not hearing it at all. A couple of times, there were small "rush hour" traffic jams, and our overall imaginary score would increase. I think the highest total we got one day was 73 honks and several shouts of "hey!" or "sorry!" We were there for hours, waiting and yelling, yelling and waiting. This was long before people became engrossed in cell phone conversations, unaware of children playing away from the street, but interacting with it too.

This was also when we came up with our next game: Rock Tennis.

The rules of Rock Tennis were simply. We had to stand on the edge of Randy Harmon's (our friend, neighbor, and accomplice) driveway, find a medium sized rock, toss the rock into the air, and whack it with a tennis racket. The object of the game was to make a direct hit on the right side of the Peters' house, which had no windows, but was completely covered with aluminium siding. I think it was the anticipation that was the most fun. The anticipation of waiting for the sound to occur, seconds later, after you hit the rock with the racket. It was a sound unlike any other. The SMACK, the TINK, and sometimes the THUNK of a rock hitting siding. The sound would echo around us as we laughed and pointed, arguing whose turn it was next.

We were kids, so we didn't understand the outcome of such antics. We knew it was wrong to do it, but we didn't understand the value of money. We didn't comprehend the cost of being a homeowner, and what that could do to a family.

Our game caused a lot of grief for the Peters, and eventually for ourselves.

Years later, I would understand this pain, when my son would grab a rock and throw it at our newly sided addition; amazed by the echoing sound a rock makes when it hits aluminum, and pained by the extent of the damage.