A Batavia boy's favorite childhood possession was his red football helmet

(Above, brothers Dan Reilly and Dave Reilly wearing their football helmets.)

When I nostalgically think back to my childhood in Batavia in the 1950s, several favorite possessions come to mind.

My scruffy eyeless teddy bear got me through many dark and scary nights. No visions of venomous snakes or sounds of branches creaking in the wind outside my window on Thomas Avenue could keep me awake with teddy to protect me.

A cheap baseball mitt that looked like a pancake with stubby fingers stands out, too. It had no pocket at all, but I made do with it for years until I could get a better one.

But the treasure I recall the best is my red football helmet.

Just like Ralphie wishing for a BB gun in “A Christmas Story,” the beloved tale by Jean Shepherd, I pleaded and cajoled to get a football helmet. I was hand-springing happy when I opened the box under our tinsel-laden tree and saw that beautiful scarlet shiny gift.

But, as I put it on, I realized that I couldn't see! It was gigantic. It turned out that although I was 8 years old when I got it, it didn't fit until I was 12. But, in those days, there was no returning it. You just made do.

I did love my helmet though and I was so proud of it. But for the first couple years I had it, I could barely hold my head up with it on.

One time my brother Dan, a couple other little boys and I were playing football in the vacant lot on the northeast corner of Thomas and Washington avenues. A photographer from the Sylvania Company who was taking some local photos for the company newspaper noticed us and took a picture. He got our address and promised to mail us a couple copies.

We were thrilled and couldn't wait to see ourselves. But when the paper came, I couldn't believe it. I looked like a red-capped toadstool! It appeared that there was a gigantic helmet with legs sticking out of it.

But, do you think I would play football without it? No way. I'd cinch the chin strap up to the last hole and stagger off to play with my head bobbing like one of those funny dogs people used to put in the rear window of their cars. I might have been the original bobblehead.

I think back sometimes when it's football season and recall the fun times I had with that helmet.

One of our favorite things to do was play in the mud. We'd wait for a real rainy day, one of those days when the air smells like worms and wet dog fur. We'd round up a bunch of kids and then start nagging our moms to let us go. That didn't take long though because what mom isn't looking for a break from cooped up 8 to 10 year old boys.

We'd head for the State Park (AKA Centennial Park) across the street from the New York State School for the Blind and look for the soggiest part. We didn't play two-hand touch either. I mean the whole reason for playing in the mud was to dive and get knocked into it.

After a couple hours of that, we looked like swamp creatures from a scary movie.

One of the most hilarious parts of the whole experience was seeing the reaction of our mom when we squished into the house afterward: “Oh no! Just look at this! You boys are a sight! Get those muddy clothes off right now and don't you dare get near the carpet.

"You have to get in the bathtub PDQ! What in billy bejabbers (my mom's “cursing”) was I thinking letting you go out in this rain! You'll catch your death of pneumonia!” 

We'd skitter upstairs to the bathroom giggling all the way. Later after we got out of the tub, there was enough dirt ringed around the sides to start a terrarium.

Later when I became a dad, I had to learn the same lesson that my mom had: You're probably going to trade those couple hours or minutes of peace and quiet for a splitting headache later on.

Eventually, I outgrew my red helmet and it was put away in a box in the basement. My dad saved everything (he actually saved a half a can of charcoal lighter for over 15 years) and from to time he'd notice it and ask me if I wanted it. “Nah” I would say.

Well, life moves on and I forgot about that helmet for a long time.

In 1989, my aunt died and my father and mother had an auction to sell off her stuff and put some of their own belongings up for sale also. I showed up to see how it was going and guess what? There on a table was my red helmet and my brother's yellow one, too, for 25 cents apiece. Who would want them?

Nobody. Except me.

So, where is it today? In a box in the basement just like it was for all those years. I just can't seem to throw it away. Whenever I see it, I'm transported back to a muddy park in Batavia in the 1950s, having a blast in the red helmet of my youth.

Photos courtesy of Dave Reilly.

Below, Dave Reilly these days with the football helmets he and his brother played in as children.