Pull the ball and it would land in the neighbor’s backyard. During street football, the braver ones among us would take to the small strip of grass between sidewalk and street where for a brief moment, tackle, not touch, was the rule. In fact, we made our own rules.
Get knocked down by your friend’s older brother? Fall into the snowbank going for a layup, only to have your face nudged further into the snow? Whatever the issue, the last thing we would ever think to do would be to tell our parents. That would be an invasion of our privacy. This was our world. Our time.