Our neighborhood was full of characters. Two of the most entertaining were two boys, brothers, who lived catty corner behind us. One was slightly younger than I and the other was a little older, but they were indeed characters in every sense of the word.

One Christmas, my parents gave me an “ice skating rink”. It amounted to a 12 foot circle of heavy black plastic and a corrugated metal frame about 12 inches high. The idea was to set up the frame, add the plastic liner, fill with water and allow it to freeze. Then, supposedly, it could be used for skating.

Common sense alone tells you that contrary to the colorful box with pictures of 15 people gliding around on the ice, a 12 foot circle wouldn’t give one much room to actually skate, much less allow enough room to invite the whole neighborhood over to practice for the Olympics. But back then we didn’t have much truth in advertising.

At any rate, my dad set the ice rink up and filled it with water. Once the top of the water began to freeze, it was impossible to resist breaking it with a booted foot, so the ice never froze to a smooth finish. After several winters of attempting to accomplish the proper freezing of the water, Dad gave up and took the ice rink apart.

The plastic liner, shaped like a big limp heavy plastic saucer, was hung on a nail in the garage. I don’t know how long it hung there, but since we rarely used the old garage, it was probably a few years before the grand scheme was hatched one spring day over some chicken potpies at the neighbor boys’ house.

Earlier in the day, Mark and Jim, the neighbor boys were at my house playing in the back yard. We got tired of the swings and slide so we decided to go into the garage to see what treasures were stored in the musty old building.

The original owners of the house had some children who a generation before, had taken nails and scratched cave like drawings on the walls between the studs. We examined those for awhile then sorted through boxes of old tools and stored odds and ends. While rummaging through a box, Mark noticed the big plastic skating rink liner hanging on the nail near the back of the garage. It was covered with dust and when he pulled at it, we were encapsulated in a cloud of dust and dirt. He removed the liner with the help of his brother and asked if my dad would be needing it. I told him I didn’t think so, and with my help, we dragged it out into the yard to see what we had.

We spread it out on the ground while the wheels in Mark’s head began to turn. Finally he said that he figured if we got some of the other kids together, took the liner to the empty lot beside his house, all grabbed the sides and ran against the strong spring wind, it would fill with air and lift us off the ground, “probably all the way to the sky, maybe even the Moon!”

By now it was noon and the boys’ mother called them home for lunch. They took off at a trot promising to be back as soon as they ate so we could get ready for our trip. I was, in the meanwhile, to gather up the rest of our friends and have them ready to go in an hour or so. I managed to dig up another boy and two girls who were only too happy to join us on our voyage.

The rest of the kids were gathered in my yard when Mark came running back saying that we were all invited over for lunch. When we found out it was going to be chicken pot pies, even though most of us had already had our lunch, we made a bee-line for the boys’ house because we all loved those warm crusty little pies full of savory gravy, veggies and chunks of chicken.

While we ate, we talked over our plans and Mark, ever the neighborhood scientist, explained how it would all work and gave us our individual assignments. When we were full of chicken potpies, we headed back to my yard to gather our vehicle, the black plastic skating rink liner.

It took all six of us to drag the heavy plastic to the vacant lot beside Mark and Jim’s house, but when we finally got there, we were excited at the possibility of being the first kids on the moon. We would have settled for just sailing above the earth, but the idea of the moon was just thrilling.

Mark dragged out the garden hose telling us that the plastic had to be really clean so that we’d get the most lift. We scrubbed at the liner and gave our best attempt at drying it. Satisfied that it was ready to go, Mark ordered us into position.

We tugged and pulled the plastic to the very back of the lot, careful that we would be running into the wind when the time came. Another check of the plastic and our positioning proved satisfactory to Mark. The wind had died down a bit though and he was concerned that it was not strong enough to get us off the ground. We decided to wait until the wind kicked up again so we sat in a semi-circle around the plastic for 30 minutes talking and laughing.

Finally the wind did begin to pick up and Mark determined that our mission was a go. We got up, took our places, grabbed onto the plastic and at his signal, began to run.

We hadn’t run 10 feet when a gust of wind hit the center of the plastic. When it hit, it hit like a bomb! I will never forget the sound it made or how I thought my arm would be jerked out of its socket! The girls, including me, were unable to hold on so the full impact of the wind in the plastic fell to the boys who were already struggling to hang on.

They didn’t go up as planned, they were literally dragged, backward for several feet like rag dolls being flung hither thither, before the plastic was snatched out of their hands and was blown over their heads landing against a huge acorn tree at the back of the lot.

Mark had the seat of his pants completely torn out, Jim and a dislocated thumb and Chuck had a skinned elbow, knee and nose. Bloody, bruised and stunned, the boys got up.

By the time they were on their feet and had stopped reeling from the beating they’d just taken, they were in fisticuffs. They were screaming at each other, blaming one another for the mishap and shouting insults at us girls for “chickening out!”

As the altercation was in full progress, the wind shifted and the plastic which had been plastered against the tree fell over us blanketing us in total darkness.

We were screaming and trying to escape when I heard one of my playmates say quietly, “Let’s see if we can tie some string on this and use it for a giant kite!”

We never did get to the moon and we never used the plastic liner for a giant kite, but what we did do was to manage to get ourselves into so much trouble for doing something so dangerous that we were never again allowed in the garage.

The neighborhood boys were treated by their parents for their minor injuries, I spent some time in my room and soon the whole thing was all but forgotten.

I was in the grocery store the other night and while walking through the frozen food aisle, noticed some chicken potpies. I paused for a moment remembering that breezy spring day some 40 years ago. There was a sale sign on the freezer door that read, “Chicken Potpies, 3 for $1.00”.

So much has changed in 4 decades. Potpies were a dime back then. Space travel is taken for granted now. There are space shuttles and rockets. People have been to and have walked on the moon. Mark is no longer with us. He died a few years ago. The rest of us have children and grandchildren of our own. I wondered if any of them had ever attempted something as silly as planning a trip to the moon riding on a huge sheet of black plastic. I was smiling as I reached into the freezer and pulled out several chicken potpies. I was still smiling when I put them in my cart thinking, “I am so glad some things never change.” They still come in waxy little boxes, are still nestled in tiny aluminum pie pans and still looked so good on the box.

On my way to the checkout, I passed a woman with several children in tow. They were about the same age as we were back when we planned our trip to the moon. I smiled at them realizing that before the end of the day, they would probably be dreaming up some plans and schemes of their own. I had to fight the urge to follow them as they turned into the frozen food aisle, but I’d lay money on the fact that when that woman checked out, there were some chicken potpies in her cart too.

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