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Originally published in the Erie Morning News, March 30, 1994
My memories may not go back as far as some, but growing up in the '50s and '60s in Erie, Pennsylvania defined Hometown USA for me. Our family of four children was the center of our parents' world. Now, I realize we very fortunate to have had a close, loving family. Sure, we all took our turns in the hot seat for some misdeed. That isn't particularly what I remember. What I recall are a couple of unique events that occurred solely because of the love and devotion of our creatively indulgent father, Leo Harkins, a biology teacher at Academy High School, and our ever-patient mother, Marie, homemaker and "saint." It was winter. We all know what winter means in Erie. But harsh conditions didn't deter Daddy from turning our backyard into an ice skating rink for his kids. First, he removed all the snow to reveal the frozen grass underneath - no snowplow at our house. It was one shovelful at a time! Then with garden hose in hand, he applied a mist of soft spray on the brown lawn. He laid down layer after thin layer until there was a crust of ice several inches thick. For final effect, Dad piped Big Band music - his favorite - outside through a rigged up speaker hanging from the eaves of the house. The moment came when our father pronounced his rink ready for skating. The opportunity to skate like the pros sparkled before us. I guess Dad figured it was about as close as any of his kids would ever get to performing in the Ice Capades. Wearing an extra pair of socks to fill my too big hand-me-down skates, I, along with my brother and sisters, stepped onto the ice. What grace! What agility! What knee bruises! Finally, with our lips blue, we reluctantly retreated to the warmth of the living room, where, naturally, a foot-fight ensued over who got first dibs on the hot air floor register. While we roasted ourselves, a proud father returned to his hose, spraying yet more layers of ice to cover our fresh tracks, smoothing the surface for the next go-around. Ah, to have your very own ice rink in your very own backyard! We were the envy of the entire neighborhood and it took no time until all the children from near and far were there, sharing our daily pleasure. Mr. Sunshine eventually took away our rink, but not our delightful recollection of it. Daddy always says there's no place like Erie in the summertime. It was then we were witness to yet another scheme. But he would not tell us what it would be. Dad turned the soil of the backyard, patrolled for rocks, stones and even pebbles, removing them to his rusty wheelbarrow. Next, he planted seed and staked the perimeter, tying colorful rags on the string fencing, making it off-limits to kids' feet. He watered and fertilized and when he had a fine carpet of grass, Daddy pushed the heavy lawn roller around trying to smooth the surface as flat as a pool table. Then came the official mowing, resulting in a crew-cut stubble of green. It was time to bring forth the elaborate and carefully plotted to scale plans he'd honed to his critical satisfaction and then secreted. We all puzzled as to why he dug and measured small holes in his beautifully sculptured yard. As he planted tin cans, we finally realized our father was constructing a 10-hole miniature golf course, complete with complicated ramps, booby traps and bank shots for the golf balls! With his own golf clubs at our disposal, Dad gave us pointers. We squatted down to line up the shots, just like he did. And as with the skating rink, neighborhood friends, young and old, waited in line to play. Fall arrived and with it school. As the leaves fell, covering the course, Dad lost interest in keeping it up and so did we. It was a one-time summer thing that came and went. Daddy was just being Daddy. But now I know he wasn't just a daddy. He was our friend, our teacher and our father, and we were – and still are – the luckiest kids in the neighborhood. Thanks, Dad, from one Erie kid to another.
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