Those lazy, hazy days of summer nights when I entered my childhood taught me that familiarity, rather than breeding contempt, creates comfort.

The routine that took me through the mid-to-late-1950s began on Memorial Day and ended on Labor Day. The second I finished drying the last dinner dish Dad had washed, I grabbed my cream-colored ball, my hula hoop (the neon orange one that glowed in the dark) or my baseball glove and dashed outside.

For the next few hours, until all the mothers announced "bath time," the other kids and I would turn our Stanton Heights street into a kickball or baseball field, a dodge ball court or a hula hoop arena.

No matter what we kids were doing, we stopped when we heard the jingling of the ice cream man's truck. Each of us ran home, got coins that our parents kept in a candy dish just for this purpose, and raced to be the first in line to get an ice cream sandwich, Eskimo bar, or -- my favorite -- a creamsicle. We sat on the curb -- a group of sweaty, grimy and very contented children -- eating our treats in congenial silence.

We sometimes had time for one game of handball before we retrieved the jars we kept on our front porches for the lightning bugs we collected every night. Though we punched holes in the tin lids, the bugs did not last long, but they did live long enough to add pinpoints of light to even those nights when the moon and stars slept behind the clouds.

As I later reclined in the tub, letting the warm water wash away the dirt from under my nails and the specks of blood clinging to my scraped knee or elbow, I felt at peace with myself and my world.

I knew with the certainty of youth that the next night would unite me with my circle of friends, that my parents and grandmother would either be sitting on the front porch or in the living room waiting for me, and that nothing could ever go wrong on a summer night.

-- RONNA L. EDELSTEIN, Oakland (rledel@aol.com)

We didn't have much in those days, growing up in the 1930s, but neither did anyone else in our Hill District neighborhood. We were all from blue-collar families. So, we had to make the best of our summers.

We would play in the street, games such as baseball, only we played with a softball. We also played Kick the Can. We didn't have access to many supervised programs.

Later in years, my family joined an organization called the Irene Kaufman Settlement. We paid a slight fee for the year. We were able to use the playground in the afternoons, and the indoor pool during the day. So, this we enjoyed.

We didn't have a car, so we walked everywhere. We were healthier for that. Not too many obese children then.

In the evening, we would sit on our porch with friends and pass the time away. After an early Sunday dinner, we would go swimming at Mineral Beach for a couple of hours. When we left the beach, we would go home, change clothes and get ready to go dancing. We went dancing at Linden Grove.

By then, the day was gone. Up the next day (6:45 a.m.), ready for another day, rested and refreshed. This is how we spent our summers.

No computers. No videos. No cell phones.

Very little TV.

Just a lot of walking.

-- ROSE A. LoPINTO, Whitehall