The Chain Link Fence

As the youngest of four children, in order to keep up with my siblings, I had to learn to climb the chain link fence that barricaded our yard from the high school located behind it. Beyond the fence lay limitless hours of fun for all us: my dad would practice his golf technique by hitting a giant bucket of golf balls, my older sister and brother would play baseball or practice catching pop-up flies with their friends, while my other sister and I would play “house” on a sound booth’s roof. The sound booth was located down a hill and behind the bleachers where the track lay waiting for the next football game or track meet. The tennis courts and pool were nearby so we would stay for hours, sometimes until dusk was beginning to fall, and then climb back over the fence in time for dinner.

At other times we played “Horse” on the basketball court with our dad, where he was not one to let us win. If we won, we earned it fair and square. We’d go for walks or jogs at the high school and sometimes, when it was really hot and the football players were practicing, we’d get the hose and squirt them with cold water while standing atop our ladder and leaning as far over the fence as possible. Many memories of my childhood involved climbing over that fence. It was, when I was little, quite a feat for a little person to accomplish. I felt strong and empowered when I did it. And later, I was proud when I came across a fence to climb and could jump over it in no time flat. I think it impressed the boys. I suppose that was a motivating factor as well, come to think of it. Still, that fence somehow is intertwined in many adventures at Castro Valley High, which we’d all thought of as an extension of our backyard.

Each fourth of July our family celebrated our country’s birthday in a quaint, time honored tradition: races for the kids, baseball, a barbeque with hot dogs and burgers, watermelon, potato and pasta salads, and we would end the entire extravaganza with a giant display of fireworks at the gravely track behind our house. During the course of the day our entire family, and about fifteen others and all their children, made the trek over the chain link fence…this time it was outfitted with two aluminum ladders, one located on each side of the chain link fence positioned in a giant “A.” Children and parents alike would carefully climb over so the games could begin. My dad would be outfitted in a referee uniform and cap at this point, with a whistle in his mouth. We had sack races, we did cartwheels, we raced, we jumped and we even had the “tiniest steps” contest so each child could win. Raffle tickets were passed out generously to all of the children and were later redeemed for candy and inexpensive prizes. Mom and her friend Joanne would dole out the goods to us. Together, we all made several “crossings” between our backyard and the school. If an elderly person had to cross, we would have spotters helping them over and on either side of the “A” framed ladders to catch them if they had a mishap. Usually, after we lit off the fireworks, we’d hop over one last time to bid good-bye to another year of celebratory fun and then head home tired, dirty and content.

Soon though, we somehow outgrew hopping over the fence. It simply was not cool for us to do it at a certain age, I think about the time my oldest sister entered high school and boys were suddenly becoming of interest. The only exception, of course, was our annual 4^th of July party. Other than that, we learned to walk around the block to the school.

Over the years I’ve crossed many other fences, usually involving a shortcut or to enter an area that was “off limits.” In my mind’s eye, I would inevitably think of our chain link fence…even if the moment of reflection was a fleeting one as I hopped over.

Last night my dad and mom attempted to go to my son’s lacrosse game. I say attempted, because they couldn’t quite make it. They slowly and gingerly got out of their car and carefully made their way across the parking lot and entered the stadium. They sat and rested at a picnic table and then they continued to walk around the track to the chain link fence. We realized the JV game was not even half way finished yet. It would be an hour before Troy’s game began. At this point, my dad, who is courageously fighting cancer and undergoing yet another round of radiation, said, “I can’t make it.” He could not sit for an hour and then endure the cold and the wind, to watch his grandson play a lacrosse game. This was despite the fact that he wanted to so badly. He had yet to make a game this season and was bound and determined to do so. Up to this point, he had only been able to witness Troy’s games on DVD’s that friends of ours had filmed for him.

I said, “Let me go get Troy so he can say hi to you.” I had to walk a ways to an opening in the fence and entered the track area. I explained to Troy that Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t be able to stay and why. We quickly walked the length of field together and stopped at the chain link fence. Troy graciously thanked them for coming and understood why they had to leave. They all chatted for a brief time and then Troy hugged them both tightly to say good-bye.

I went to bed thinking of that chain link fence. It is a difficult thing seeing a symbol of my youth turn into a symbol of my dad’s physical limitations. I felt sad and I felt love. I felt sad because I could see my dad’s eyes fill with tears as he spoke with my son and how this cancer had changed my strong father. I felt love because of all of the really good memories my mom and dad have given my siblings and I growing up, living life. And now I see the love my dad and mom have for my son, daughters and myself, my siblings and all of the other grandchildren. I see the kind of love that would drive him to the field and to that fence, knowing he might not be able to last through an entire game.

My dad might see the night as a failure, that he only made it to the fence. But he didn’t. My dad succeeded. He gave both Troy and me the gift of love and a memory that will last forever.