David: A griot recalls the Columbia of his youth

This Black History Month has prompted me to reflect on my life growing up in Columbia.

I remember playing kickball, king of the mountain and hide-and-seek, and marching through the neighborhood like the soldiers we saw at Fort Jackson.

I remember building go-karts from old wood and lawn mower parts, assembling pieces of old bikes to make choppers and constructing forts out of broken sticks and tree limbs.

I remember my mother making preserves from the plum and peach trees that grew in our yard, and having to be on the porch or in the house when the street lights came on.

I remember engaging in mischief on Willow Street, getting scolded on High Street and getting my butt whipped when I reached my home on Adams.

I remember walking from Waverly Elementary with classmates, and buying Now & Laters, Chick-O-Sticks and candy necklaces from Griggs Open Air Market.

I remember dogs named Spot, Prince and Duke, and childhood friends named Jobe, Kelvin, Humphrey, Brian, Tyrone, Walter and Dwayne.

I remember the live, caged tiger named “Happy” who served as the mascot for Constan Carwash on Gervais Street.

I remember when there were houses on 277 Extension and Bull Street was known for mental health. In fact, if someone said, “You’re gonna end up on Bull Street,” that was a reference to losing your mind, not attending a baseball game.

I remember the family friendly drive-in theater on Beltline and the not-so-family friendly drive-in theater on Sunset. I remember smoke-filled concerts at the coliseum and the smell of popcorn, boiled peanuts and warm beer during Tuesday night wrestling matches at the Township.

I remember swimming lessons at Drew Park, picnics at Sesquicentennial Park and father-and-son nights at the downtown YMCA.

I remember when W.G. Sanders Middle was Fairwold, Columbia High was downtown, Keenan High was off Two Notch Road and students were school bus drivers and hall monitors.

I remember rowdy block parties, funky house parties, Friday night hops (dances) in the gym and sophisticated proms and debutante balls. I remember when Fox Croft Skating Rink was the high school hangout and the Limelight was the hottest night club in town.

I remember saying hello to people on the street, “Yes mam,” “No mam,” “Yes sir,” “No sir,” “Excuse me,” “Thank you” and “God bless you” after someone sneezed.

I remember coaches who cared as much about your personal development as winning, teachers who made sure you learned something in class, community leaders who were ethical and pastors who had a moral compass.

My children are growing up in a different Columbia than I did, but they will never know how different unless they hear people like me tell stories about what it was like back in the day. Sure, they can do an Internet search, but there is nothing like the live narrative.

I am a Christian, a father, a husband, a son, a brother, a friend and an educator. Now I guess I can add “griot” — a storyteller, a keeper of our history — to my long list of titles.

This story was originally published February 28, 2016 at 3:50 PM.