by Francesca Biller

Freshly cut grass was the smell I

most remember from my childhood neighborhood， mowed and 1）manicured by young dimpled boys before and after school， but mostly on weekends in between wide-eyed bike rides and 2）stick ball-playing in the street.

On any given day you might see Chris， Brent or Phillip wipe sweat from their brows with their youth-3）calloused hands as they whistled and mowed the lawns of the Anderson family， the Portners or the Wood bunch， with their 4）sprawling yellow house and seven lapping dogs.

“See you at the Pier after I get done，”Chris would yell to Phillip， whom we all called Philly.

Philly would not say anything， but would raise up one of his hands as he was a particularly good mower and wanted to earn his two dollars and fifty cents an hour to save up for a new 5）Schwinn bicycle.

The boys were about thirteen or fourteen at most， not yet men but no longer young-heeled babes who ran tirelessly after the ice cream truck for the cold comforts of childhood.

Whether or not kids were expected to do their fair share was not an idea that occurred to anyone on the streets where we lived.

My father often recalled his first job as a paper boy and then as a gas station attendant. He told us there was no greater feeling than working and getting “that first tip”， his first paycheck and buying a soda pop or comic book on his own dime.

My mother worked on her family farm， beginning at the age of four， and picked ripened coffee beans under the vast， widening skies of Hawaii during World War II. She worked with her four siblings while they sang made-up songs about school， their friends and the dreams they shared.

Philly eventually bought that bike and couldnt help but ride it in front of my house at least twice a day， while he jumped curbs and mussed up his hair on purpose just to make me look.

Brent was saving up to put himself through college， since his father told him that “an education had to be earned if it was to be learned at all.”

As for Chris， he spent all of his earnings on a 1969 Blue 6）Dodge Dart as soon as he was allowed to drive. When he got that car， all the girls in the neighborhood lined up each morning for a ride to school. Chris was smart.

No one I knew was given a car because they got good grades， because they behaved， or because“they simply existed as children.”

We all had chores， we were expected to have respect without rewards， and our parents 7）ruled the roost.

This meant that my sisters， my brother and I were all physically active. When we werent cutting grass， walking to the corner store to buy a gallon of milk for mom， or taking turns cleaning the bathrooms or sweeping out the shed， we played outside.

We knew it was time for dinner when the sun had nearly set， and that meant setting the table was a 8）tall order， as we scurried home sweaty and tired from hours of playing 9）dodge ball， 10）hopscotch and baseball games that we played without the cheers of our dads， because all of our dads worked.

All this work and play meant obesity was not a childhood 11）epidemic.

Neither was 12）ADHD， suicides due to bullying over the Internet， or 13）permanently curved spines because of over-texting and over-sexting.

There were no debates between children and their parents about buying the latest cell phone that parents could not even afford.

We didnt have a lot in the way of material things， but we were better for it.

As a kid， I still remember my annual trip to Sears to get my one pair of “back-to-school” shoes I was told had to last through the Holidays.

My girlfriends also showed off our two new 14）Marcia Brady dresses we were so proud of each fall， along with ribbons that decorated our braided hair we wore well through the second year of middle school.

新刈的草儿的气息就是我儿时邻里间最记忆犹新的味道。刈草的工作会由那些年纪轻轻的长着酒窝的男孩子在上学前或者放学后完成，不过大部分时候是在周末，在街头天真无忧地骑自行车与棍球游戏之间的时段进行。

在某个日子，你可能会看到克里斯、布伦特或者菲利普一边吹着口哨，一边为安德森家、波特纳家或者伍德家刈草。伍德家有间黄色大房子，还有七条伸着舌头的狗。不时地，他们会用年轻却起了茧子的手擦去眉宇间的汗水。

“我活干完了，就到码头找你啊。”克里斯会对菲利普喊道，我们通常称他为菲利。

菲利不答话，只是扬起他的一只手，因为他自己也是一位厉害的刈草好手，他希望专心赚他的2.5美元时薪，好攒起来买辆新的施文自行车。

这些男孩儿顶多十三到十四岁，还未成年，但也不再是那些嫩手嫩脚、不知疲倦地追着雪糕车来寻求童年清凉快乐的小孩了。

在我们生活的街道上，孩子们要不要做他们的分内事这样的问题可不会出现在任何人的头脑中。

我父亲常常回忆起他的第一份工作就是当报童，然后就是在加油站当服务员。他跟我们说，投入工作、赚到“第一笔小费”以及第一份薪水，用自己的一分一毫买一瓶汽水或者漫画书，没有什么比这些让人感觉更棒的了。

我母亲四岁起就在她们家的农场帮忙，二战的时候在夏威夷广阔无垠的天空下摘熟了的咖啡豆。她和四个兄弟姐妹一边工作，一边哼着自己编的关于学校、关于朋友和共同梦想的歌儿。……