Ringing the Bell
My brother and I ringing the bell
When I was growing up my parents would ring a bell to call us for dinner.
There is a black and white photo of my brother and me circa 1970 standing next to the bell in the backyard of our suburban home.
I love so many things about the photo including that going shirtless and barefoot makes it look like it was taken in the 1930s during the Depression.
The need for the bell that they could ring to alert us to come home reminds me that in living memory kids roamed their neighborhoods largely unsupervised with no cell phones to reach or track them.
I can’t imagine what the neighbors thought, but there was no Neighborhood Watch or online community board like Nextdoor or HOAs where you could complain.
When you are a kid you take things both at face value and for granted so we didn’t think it was odd to have a bell in the backyard.
And we certainly didn’t think about where the bell came from or what it took to install it.
Only decades later do you realize it required considerable effort.
The story goes like this: Mom grew up on a farm in Maryland and when my parents got married Dad discovered a bell in the barn. He got it into his head that he wanted the bell and persuaded his father-in-law to give it to him.
That was just the beginning. There was a machinery shop at his job at the state power company so he convinced some colleagues in their free time to make the steel frame and saddle to hang it on. Then he dug holes in the backyard and planted the poles.
It became a fixture in our subdivision. We would be playing a few blocks away and when the bell started ringing our friends would know we had to go home.
Dad was committed to the bell. He and Mom moved the family three times and on every occasion he dug it up and brought it along.
By the time of the last move we were grown and smart phones meant you didn’t need a bell to communicate anymore so he stored it in the garage where it remains.
Dad passed a month ago and it’s caused me to reflect on all the things your parents do for you – most of which you don’t know or appreciate when you’re young.
Dad did a lot of idiosyncratic things – like putting a bell in the backyard – but as an engineer he always did them in a rational way.
The photograph prompted me to ask him about the bell a few years ago. I wanted to know why he wanted to have it so much. There wasn’t really a good reason; it was just something he wanted to do.
I’m glad I asked when I did. Because there comes a time you can’t ask anymore.
My Dad lived to 99 so we were blessed with a lot of time.
But however much it was, it’s never enough.
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BRIEF OBSERVATIONS
STANDING IN LINE: Soho has to be the epicenter of standing in line in New York if not the world. I was there yesterday and noticed the line for the bakery La Cabra.
NO LINE: The yellow awning across the street in the photo is the Soho location of Dominique Ansel which just a decade ago was mobbed with lines after it launched its famous Cronut pastry. Evidence that lines eventually subside.
VINTAGE ON THE STREET: Soho is also increasingly home to vintage popups on the street. I ended up getting this weathered Carhardt for $90.
BEING A NEW YORKER: This tweet captures the requisite New York attitude that seems to be required to live in this city, especially downtown. Sadly, I exhibit many of these traits.
THE VIBE ABOUT LIVING IN NEW YORK: There are two competing views about New York City right now. One crowd says Mamdani is ruining the city with higher taxes; they espouse moving to Miami. The other side posts “New York is on fire” scenes of Knick basketball street watching parties and memes that “the taxes are worth it.”
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