Of Wooden Doors and Memories

There is a post going around FaceBook with a picture of a front porch captioned, “Every so often. Go where you can hear a wooden screen door slam shut.” Initially I said there was no way to explain that, but I’m now going to make the attempt. I mean who has WOODEN screen doors anymore?
What does this little blurb imply? Summer, exuberance, time past, mom calling out Don’t SLam the. do….r. So we would be in a small town, not yet (thankfully) grown to up enough to want metal and glass in the way of running up the front steps, arm outstretched, grabbing the door handle, around your arm goes pulling the door open, chasing the wind through the entry…SLAM! Can’t you hear it? That squeek and thunk no metal or fiberglass can ever satisfy.
And aside from the sound, there is the comforting knowledge that mom is somewhere in the house repeating the meaningless words she will repeat countless times before you leave for your own house with its own slamming wooden door. It is memories. Bliss. Innocence. Not-a-care-in-the-world/nothing-but-the-moment/everything-is-new-and-exciting time of life. This was when we just sat and listened to the rain, caught lightening bugs after dark and read comic books with a flashlight under the covers. Of course the consequence is you are called upon to wield a screwdriver when dad repairs the door because it has come loose of its hinges. “…from all that slamming. I’ve told you time and again…”, said in unison. That brings a smile from me…and dad.
While this evoked that sense of wistful nostalgia, it also brought a dreamy reminiscence in the sense of one thing reminding me of others. Notice it reads “wooden” screen door. That immediately reminded me of wooden baseball bats. There is nothing, I repeat nothing like the sound of a baseball hit hard off a wooden bat. No aluminum bat I’ve ever swung or heard has come close to the thunk and crack of wood. Even as a spectator you can hear the difference between a dead, metallic clunk and the live, sweet crackle when a baseball collides with a wooden bat. If you’re the batter, you not only hear it, you FEEL it in your hands and all the way up your arms to the let go when you have followed through and dropped the bat to the ground. There is no other “slam” like it…except maybe that slamming wooden screen door.
Every so often.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Amy Duncan
    May 19, 2013 @ 21:35:31

    I have many happy memories of slamming wooden screen doors!

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