Teen summers were spent at Rucker Park—at the pool in the afternoons, at the ball field in the evenings. Dad and I both played on softball teams, so we were frequent visitors. When he was playing, I’d go along to hang out on the swings or in the game room / dance hall above the bathhouse. Even during the day, we kids would take swim breaks, and enjoy a snack from the concession stand while listening to the juke box or engaging in a game of ping pong. The expansive openings with push out shutters (some might call them windows) were perfect spots to look down upon the water and scope out the cute guys (or girls)! With bench seats around the wall’s edge, it was easy to elevate and peer out. The room was sparsely furnished, so there was plenty of dancing space when the mood was right. I’ll never forget slow dancing to Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman” with my dream guy for that season—whenever I hear that song I always smile as I remember that moment with R….
Today Rucker Park is run by the Oxford Recreation Department. Everything about it is different, yet in some respects things are somewhat the same. The pool, an infinity type, is still cement, but operates quite differently than ones in the sixties. Instead of a diving board and a deep end, the new pool has depths from three to five feet with no diving available. It’s much larger than the one from my day, and turned lengthwise north to south rather than east to west as it once was. The old bathhouse is gone, no swings that I’ve seen yet, but the old ball field is still intact. Nonetheless, I have been swimming there for the last few weeks and find it quite well run. Although it doesn't hold the draw for me that the old Rucker Park had, I’m sure the kids of today are making their own memories. There are times when I’m in my zone, swimming my laps, I see the kids from my neighborhood—laughing, talking, splashing to keep cool. And I’ll just bet if that special song spilled over from a radio, I’d be dancing the night away once again.
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As we suffered through the ninety and one hundred degrees temperatures of June this year, I couldn't help but recall the days of my youth--when air conditioning didn't exist in most areas of Oxford--at least those I was familiar with. We counted on afternoon thunderstorms and cooling rains for relief that would allow sleep through hot, steamy nights. Window fans were a luxury, but small oscillating fans ran 24-7. Even downtown merchants flung doors wide open and kept tall fans blowing through that space to help cool stores so customers would be comfortable.
Today I think about how wilted I feel as I move about in the extreme temperatures and how much hotter it seems than in years before. In reality, I believe that we are all spoiled to the coolness and the lack of humidity we experience through the wonders of those electrical units running all around us. We tend to hibernate in summer months, staying out of the true outdoors. How soft we are since becoming conditioned to cool temperatures of our inside worlds. Would heat bother us if we had never known conditioned cool? Perhaps seasons would be just a passing of time and temps, a normal course of things, a condition we just tolerate--like it used to be. |
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