Ah, December. Finally. Yes, we’re still battling Covid but the elections are behind us and we can be forgiven for taking a break – for taking time to reminisce and bathe oneself in memories of youth.
I grew up in an American Graffiti-type town nestled against the mountains of central Utah. When it snowed, which it did more often in those days, there wasn’t enough snow-removal equipment, or the inclination, for that matter, to scrape off the white stuff down to the asphalt. Might chip it, which would lead to potholes. Nope, better to let the less-traveled roads be white with packed-down snow.
What a wonderful world for little boys who loved to bizz.
Now bizzing, to you uninitiated, means grabbing onto the bumper of a car and sliding along behind it on your shoes. In Idaho, where my wife grew up, they called it hooky-bobbing, which simply tells me she wasn’t as good at it as I was. Bizzing exudes smoothness, speed, savoir-faire. Even a touch of star quality when we would shove off from the car bumper and time our exit so we slipped between cars coming from the opposite direction and gracefully slid to the curb in front of the junior high to the oohs and aahs of classmates.
The sport evolved into a winter-long contest to see who could bizz the most blocks. Each kid knew how many blocks between any two points in town and was on his honor to report his true totals at school each day. To make it interesting, we added a few features – such as awarding triple blocks for bizzing a cop, all of whom we knew by first names. And they us.
Yes, bizzing was a cool sport, in more ways than one. Nothing like sliding on an icy road at 35 mph, the wind in your face and the thrill of danger. Not danger from the activity itself, mind you, but from being caught … by your dad.
Try telling your dad what you’ve been up to when you come home smelling like an exhaust pipe, or you’re missing a glove because it stuck to the bumper when you let go, or you have torn pants because you forgot about a warm manhole cover on Center Street.
Wonderful memories that get better with time.
So enjoy a few moments of mental escapism back to your youth. When you return, our world will look more manageable because of warm memories and laughter.
Merry Christmas!
Gary Lawrence is a public opinion researcher who survived the risks of Springville, Utah winters and grew up to be the author of “The Magnificent Gift of Agency; To Act and Not Be Acted Upon” available at Deseret Book.
