Wild Indians roamed the street,
Moccasined feet running our way,
Frightened and wide-eyed, together we clung
With no way to escape that terrible day!
Bangles and feathers rode proud on each head.
Sure as we stood there, I thought we'd be dead!
Them - whooping and dancing, as true Indians would;
Us - holding onto our scalps - petrified we stood.
Brandishing tomahawks - rubber, you see,
Bringing sheer terror to young'uns like me!
Running right at us, then back to their tribe,
Panic ensued as we quivered inside!
They scared us completely, so great was their zeal -
Were we just big babies, or were they for real?
All part of the pageantry that July four -
With young hearts all pounding, we waited for more!
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It is truly unfortunate that making Indians as bloodthirsty scary characters at Fourth of July parades, along with all the other covering up and altering of history by traditional rituals and even textbooks, is often believed as the truth of character by those who end their education with frightful scares like that.
While I could look at your poem with delight, I am a bit concerned. The words "political correctness," should not be used as ammunition for making bad behavior trivial.
Ron
When I was a young child we always went out to explore a back alley where there were no street lights at all. It was complete darkness except for the lights that shone through our flashlights. We were told that someone (a woman) had committed suicide by hanging herself in one of those trees, and we all went out to explore if her spirit would surface. It was scary every time we stepped into that back alley, but we would still welcome the unknown through our fears. Children always do the darndest thing. LOL!!!
Enjoyed your poem!
Sandie
There couldn’t have been a better time to be a kid than the ‘40s and ‘50s. The carefree beauty of that time period was the fun we experienced in being scared halfway out our mind. When I was 9 or 10 my parents fixed up an old building abou 50 ft. from the house. One cold night my brother and I and our cousin were spending the night in this building. Late in the night I woke up freezing. I decided to go into our main house. When I was halfway between the house and the building, my brother asked in a devilish voice, “What if something was to reach out and grab you about now?” Well, I froze in place. Couldn’t move. I could barely speak. But I did manage to scream, waking my father, who came to my rescue. As it turned out, my scariest moment of childhood happened to be the funniest of all. You have done a wonderful job with this poem, and at the same time, you’ve brought back a moment in time from my own past. Thank you, Connie. I always love everything you write.
David