Thanksgiving season is a time to give thanks, of course.

So why not do so here?

Watching a co-worker take part in his group’s annual “Turkey Bowl” football games at Alameda Park the other day made me think back to my younger years. While I’m 45 years removed from playing in any kind of pick-up tackle football game, there was a time ...

And I am so grateful to have been able to experience those times.

Whether it was pick-up tackle football games in an unknowing neighbor’s back yard — we weren’t about to tear up our own yard — playing basketball in a friend’s driveway deep into summer nights or playing 4-on-4 pick-up baseball games using pieces of cardboard boxes as bases, closing off right field and playing “pitcher’s hand,” those times were magical.

“Pitcher’s hand,” for those who are unfamiliar, is the ball being returned to the pitcher before the batter reaches first base.

I remember the count of “one-one thousand, two-one thousand” ... up to five thousand, before you could rush the quarterback. And if you didn’t rush him, he wasn’t allowed to run, but could take all day to throw the ball.

No dek hockey courts existed when we played street hockey. If someone shot wide of the net, there would be a delay while that person went to retrieve the hockey ball. We never played with a puck.

When we weren’t playing a sport, we had the good fortune of watching our Pittsburgh teams win — often. The Steelers’ four Super Bowl wins of the 1970’s, the Pirates’ numerous division titles and World Series wins in 1971 and 1979, all occurred during my youth.

We could buy Pittsburgh Penguin tickets for $4.25 and ride the trolley car from the South Hills to downtown Pittsburgh and back by ourselves. We could attend Pirate games at Three Rivers Stadium on Saturdays and Sundays, buy general admission tickets for a dollar and chip in a quarter each so four of us could ride the trolley to and from all weekend.

There was no fear of any abduction threat or anyone running into any trouble. Those times were so innocent.

Everybody had a neighborhood team in different sports and we would play teams from other neighborhoods. No officials or coaches were necessary. We policed ourselves and rarely had any issues doing it.

Summertime and after school, we were free to go out and play outdoor games with other kids in the neighborhood. Getting homework done was our responsibility. My parents had a rule that everyone was to be at the dinner table at 6 p.m.

If you didn’t like what was served that night, you didn’t eat. No substitutions. And no reaching for seconds until our father had his firsts — which meant waiting for him to finish his salad. Violate that rule and it was early dismissal from the table.

My childhood years were golden, my memories of family are cherished.

For both, I am extremely thankful.

John Enrietto is sports editor of the Butler Eagle