Mission Accomplished, Again

Summer is in full swing, so I thought it was time to share this story, adapted from a piece I wrote for a local paper when our kids were little. It’s about our old neighborhood in Waterloo, Iowa.

(To listen to this story, click on the photo above.)

Saturday, 1630 hrs. (4:30 p.m.)

A nondescript white pickup, heavily loaded with tables and chairs slowly pulls into the neighborhood. It creaks to a stop at the corner; its brakes emit a high-pitched squeal. Two men leave the pickup and cross the street. On the ground near the street corner, they find long, orange and white-striped planks and black metal stands. With almost military precision they use these crude materials to erect barricades – stopping westbound traffic.

4:32 p.m.

Approximately 50 yards up the street, a black SUV stops along the curb adjacent to a row of shade trees. A three-person team deftly steps from the vehicle and begins unloading a plastic barrel and bags of ice.

4:33 p.m.

The barricade team has moved to the opposite end of the street and repeats its earlier maneuver, this time stopping eastbound traffic. The street is now completely blocked off.

4:34 p.m.

The driver of the white pickup slowly guides his vehicle into position under the shade trees, exactly halfway between the two sets of barricades. A team of six men appears and begins offloading the truck’s cargo.

4:55 p.m.

The tables and chairs are in place. White plastic tablecloths adorn the long tables. Simple votive candles serve as centerpieces. A group of plastic, kid-sized picnic tables is in position near the larger, dressed up tables. A trio of gas grills is assembled at the far end of the shaded area.

5 p.m.

All is ready. The annual neighborhood block party is ready to begin!

In 1993, four families decided to host a block party. What started as a simple “get to know the neighbors” party has become a tradition – a highly organized tradition, run like a well-oiled machine. A machine that pumps out Facebook invitations and provides the muscle and necessary party materials.

Despite the daunting list of materials and logistics involved in throwing a party for 75 to 100 families, preparations are minimal. Everyone involved knows their jobs well. So well, in fact, the team hasn’t met to discuss logistics in 10 years.

This block party is testimony to the fact that fun doesn’t take a great deal of planning. Less really can be more. Especially when you have things down to a science. It’s a routine worth watching. Year after year, events unfold on cue, as if following a script. It’s like there’s a checklist guiding the proceedings. This year is no exception.

5:01 p.m.

The beer keg is tapped. The contents are sampled. (Quality control is Gospel with this group!) Check.

5:02 p.m.

The first guests arrive. Check.

5:03 p.m.

Child A rams bicycle into Table B. Child is scolded by its mother. Check.

5:30 p.m.

The “Boys of the BTUs” fire up the grills. “Fire one! Fire two! Fire three!” Check.

5:31 p.m.

Child B is missing. Check.

5:32 p.m.

Child B is found under a table eating potato chips off the street. Check. Father B is chided by his wife for not watching the kid. Check. Father B goes back to grilling the 32 oz. steak he’s been dreaming about all week. Check.

5:45 p.m.

The grilling is in full swing, as is the table conversation. The little kids are on the swing set doing their best to imitate the Cirque du Soleil. Meanwhile, their older siblings attempt new daredevil bike stunts on the now vacant street. Check. Check. Check.

6:01 p.m.

Mom A: “Honey, the kids won’t eat black hotdogs.”

Dad A: “Just scrape it off. They’ll never know the difference.”

Quality control measures in place. Check.

6:15 p.m.

Mom B: “If Joey eats one more potato chip he’ll explode!”

Dad B: “That’ll teach ‘em.” Check.

6:30 p.m.

Mom A: “I said medium rare, not medium well.”

Dad A: “Sorry honey. Want a hotdog instead?” Check.

8:30 p.m.

Sunset. Cue the mosquitos. Check.

9:30 p.m.

The votive candles are lit, casting a festive glow. Check.

Dad C: “Gentlemen, care for a cigar?” Mosquitos begin to die in mid-flight. Check.

9:45 p.m.

Mom A: “Honey, we should probably get the kids home for a bath.”

Dad A: “You bet. Hey guys, is the keg empty yet?” Check.

10 p.m.

Child B: “Mom, my tummy hurts.”

Mom B: “Talk to your father.” Check.

10:01 p.m.

Child B: “Dad, my tummy hurts.”

Dad B: “Here, drink some pop. Hey guys, is the keg empty yet?” Check.

10:35 p.m.

The call goes up from under the big tree, “The beer keg is dry!” Check.

Dad A: “Hey Honey, get the kids ready to go. Geez it’s late! They should’ve been in bed an hour ago. What have you been waiting for?” Check.

11 p.m.

The white pickup slowly makes its way to the middle of the block. The chair and table crew goes about undoing what they did just hours before. The tablecloths are removed. The garbage is sacked. The last of the revelers begin to pack up and go home.

11:45 p.m.

The pickup is parked. The street is clean. The barricade team clears the way for traffic to resume.

Midnight

The people have gone home. All signs of the festivities have been erased. The party is over, but the tradition continues. Mission accomplished, again. Check.

Note: If you enjoyed this story, please like, follow or subscribe. Thanks!