Memories of My Childhood Home in Memorial Estates in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

 Our house wasn't much different than any of the other houses in the Memorial Estates neighborhood when I was a boy, but to me, growing up in the 70's; it was the center of a fantastic universe!  And it was a safe place where things were in order...at least most of the time!

 Located at 8217 East 38^th Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma, the house was a typical three bedroom, two bathroom two car garage single floor house.  It had a living room, den, breakfast bar, dining area and the most awesome yard a pre pubescent boy could ever want.

 There were so many good days in that place that I hardly know where to begin describing them.  GI Joe and I fought many a hard won battle in our backyard fortress.  We would dress for battle, grab our toy guns and shoot down the bad guys, be they the pecans we picked up in the yard, invisible invaders or the squirrel darting across the grass.  Once, Joe had a bad day when he was para-trooping and got hung up on the power line that was running to our house.  For being wounded in battle, I gave him the Purple Heart.  I still have my GI Joe.

 In the winter time, my friends and I would make snow angels in our yards and have snowball fights until our fingers were red and numb and ached from the cold.  We loved watching the guy in the VW beetle come around the corner and go down the street pulling his kids on sled behind the car.  And we would run into one of our houses (it didn't matter which one) and get piping hot hot chocolate to warm us up before heading back out again.

 My childhood home was the kind of place where you could ride your bike to school on nice days.  All we kids knew each other.  And we knew who lived on what block and who was new and who was moving.  One of my saddest days was when our neighbors, the Petty's, moved to Chicago.  One of my best days was when the new family moved into the Petty's house.  That's because they put an in ground pool in their backyard!  Life was good!

 I have never forgotten the little red fort that we played in as kids.  Although it was in the next door neighbor's backyard, I thought of it as my own.  It had faded red boards and was partially covered with a little watch tower you could barely fit into.  But we loved that fort.  We spent hours and hours and hours playing in it and imagining all kinds of things.  It was so popular that we actually all argued over who would get to keep it when we grew up and moved away.  I don't know whatever happened to the little fort, but it lives on in my mind as one my fondest childhood places.

 My backyard had a wooden privacy fence that was foreboding.  But for me it became a challenge.  I decided that it would never be enough to stop a great adventurer of 8 years old.  I soon learned I could climb up onto the gas meter, swing my leg to the top of the fence and be over and gone into a whole new world within a matter of minutes.  Oh the wonders that awaited me.

 And I was free to roam.  Not because my mom and dad didn't care, but because the Memorial Estates neighborhood was a safe place to explore.  I spent many a countless lazy afternoon at the creeks in the area or at a friend's house playing games or at the Robert Fulton Elementary school baseball fields or the Briarwood neighborhood swimming pool.  As a kid, this kind of freedom made you feel like you owned the world.  And we did.  As long as were home by dark, all was good.  If we found ourselves riding our bikes home as the front yard gas lights were coming on, we knew we'd be in trouble.  So we peddled at double speed and went skidding up the driveway where we would burst into the house shouting, "Mom, I'm home!"

 One of my best days was when Ronnie, a good friend and I, took some raw bacon and went fishing at the creek.  We caught sunfish all afternoon on our Zebco 202 rods and reels and thought we were the greatest fishermen alive.  We were bummed when Ronnie's mom wouldn't let us clean them up for dinner.  So we dumped the bucket of fish back into the creek, sad to see them go, but thrilled with our successful day's adventure.

 We didn't know it at the time, but that very creek would turn from friend to raging enemy one night.  In the 70's, Tulsa had a major flooding problem when it would rain hard.  One Sunday night after church, Ronnie and I rode with his mom in her Toyota station wagon to his house to pick up a camera.  We were going to go to my house afterwards for my sister's birthday party.  When we turned down into the neighborhood, water was running out of the creek and across the street, but we made it to Ronnie's cul-de-sac safely and went into the house to get the camera.  I remember his mom being worried about the water, but she must have decided that it wasn't too high, because we all piled back into the car and headed back out of the cul-de-sac to go to the party.  We wouldn't make it to that party that night.  The car got caught in the water and began floating the wrong way down the street.  Water began coming into the car pretty quickly and we all knew we were in trouble.  Not knowing what else to do, Ronnie's mom told us to get out, shut the doors and run as quickly as possible to the closest house.  So we did.  And the water came rushing into the car.  And I don't know how we got that car door closed, but we did.  And Ronnie and I waded across the water holding hands so as not to slip.  It was exilarating and terrifying all at the same time.  I can still feel the water rushing around my legs whenever I think about that night.  Once we got up into the nearest yard, we ran to the front door and to safety.  The folks in that house let us in and kept us calm until our dads came about an hour later in a big 4 wheel drive truck to rescue us.  Ronnie's mom made it to safety too.  I can still see the furniture in those people's house up on cans of beans and peas so the water that was beginning to come into the house wouldn't ruin it. 

 I drive through my old Memorial Estates neighborhood from time to time when I'm in Tulsa for business.  My house is still there, although it is now painted a color my dad never would have painted.  It looks much smaller too.  But as I drive by, I can see my sister mowing the front yard in her red, white and blue 70's bikini.  And I remember dad doing the same thing...only sometimes twice in the same day so that all the blades of grass would be even and look nice.  I remember the Easter pictures in my stiff new clothes in front of our redbud tree.  And I remember when the day came for us to leave that house too.  Mom yelled.  Then she cried.  Dad smiled.  And my sister and I couldn't imagine the changes that were about to impact our lives.

 In 1977 my mom, dad and I moved to Little Rock, Arkansas.  My sister got married at the same time and I became an only child and a teenager growing up in a brand new place.  There would be adventures galore there in Little Rock.  And I would soon love that place too.  But there is no place like home.  No place where the memories are so fond and the innocence so sweet.  I guess that's why I still call my house in Tulsa in Memorial Estates my home.

Written by Bob Haywood of Owasso, Oklahoma.

PS - I thought about including pictures, but I don't have any at this time.  I know where that creek is and my old school (now closed) and the house and the park.  I may run by and snap some pics for you next time I'm in the area.  For now, memories and imagination will have to do.