The Chestnut Parade

In thinking back of getting ready for school on Labor Day I had a neighborhood flashback. This contained both SMFs & PSKs. More than that, it was about boys against the girls. Boys loved to torment girls. Girls could tease too but boys were a pain in so many places.

If love is in the air in springtime, autumn is a sure sign of getting ready for winter hibernation….a last hurrah and good riddance. As the summer blooms fell from trees, so did the chestnuts…a crop of torment if ever there was one. What is it about boys that ‘have to’ wear chestnuts under their t-shirts and parade after the neighborhood girls like they had boobs? What made me think of it this week, I don’t know. They were the silliest creatures about!

Back in the dark ages of our youth we had clothes that fit tightly; not the baggy tees & shorts of today. Ladies, you know what I mean…the days when basketball players had tight shorts! Yes, great games to watch in more ways than one! Oh…you were looking at the scoreboard? Who won? I digress.

Anyway, the boys typically had jeans with striped t-shirts, like Opie. It always seemed to me that the boys managed at least one chestnut parade each summer, a ritual. The chestnuts stuck to their shirts like Velcro. They got in their best stance, mimicking the wearing of high heels, the butt sticking out while wearing a proud chestnut chest. The silhouette was a lot like the comic strip character of Miss Peach.

How silly were they? If you were an innocent bystander, what would be sillier…the boys sashaying down the street or the girls running away screeching in humiliation? It was an Alan Funt moment if ever there was one. After the parade was over, and the boys’ silliness diminished, the girls would then get pelted with the chestnuts.

There were so many kids in my neighborhood, no one went unscathed. It was brothers against sisters and neighbors alike. I don’t remember anything being said or done by the parents upon complaint. I remember the clichés of “well boys will be boys”, “well, what ‘r ya gonna do?”, “walk the other way” and “maybe they’ll grow out of it!” Parental eyeball rolling was not reassuring.

Now I don’t have to name names…you know them! They still attend our class reunions! The next time you see one of these guys at the class reunion, feel free to give them a little smile they won’t understand!

Cathy