We lived in a semi-rural farm area growing up, and although there were plenty of children with whom to play, we didn't live "next door" in the usual sense so we developed a sense of personal independence fairly young. Even at four and five years old, we were allowed to walk among our houses, which were as much as two "country blocks" apart. It was safe... and as a rule, everyone watched out for each others' children.
My two closest friends were Robin and Wendy. Robin was my age (5 at the time) and Wendy was a year younger. Robin and I played very nicely together and were fairly obedient kids. Wendy, though, possessed a delightful spirit of wanderlust. In fact, whenever I would go to Wendy's to play, my mother would call Wendy's mother to remind her to keep an eye on us. "Don't let those children out of your sight," I heard my mother say numerous times.
Well, about a month before Robin and I were to start school, she and I sought permission to go to Wendy's to play. My mother placed the call to Wendy's mom, and off we went.
I'm not sure exactly what lead to what, but Wendy's mom turned her back and not missing a beat, Wendy the Wanderer suggested we take a walk. And with Wendy's dogs, Useless and Lucky, in tow, off we went. We walked... and we walked... until we no longer knew how to get back home. We were outside the boundaries of our usual stomping grounds.
So what did we do? We kept walking, hoping to stumble onto a familiar landmark. And as the day wore on, we became tired... hungry... and Robin was becoming agitated because she needed a bathroom.
Eventually we came to a main road, and -- lo and behold -- I knew where we were! The hitch, if you will, was that I didn't know how to get home. But I knew that if we continued along this road, we'd wind up at Jerry's Market -- a local supermarket. And to add to this wonderful stroke of luck, they always had coffee and tea set out in the back of the market for their customers!
We arrived at Jerry's, and there we stood -- three shabby kids and two dogs. Robin had, by this time, wet her pants and had started to cry. Wendy and I were still very calm -- after all, this was an adventure... we knew where we were (despite not knowing just how we'd get home)... and that the tea offered inside would taste good in our now rumbling bellies.
So we lifted Robin into the child seat of a shopping cart (to hide the tell-tale dampness), put the dogs in the main part of the cart, and went inside to enjoy the free tea in the back of the store.
It's there that our little adventure ended. Unbeknown to us, we had traveled quite a few miles -- two 5 y/o's and a 4 y/o -- and were way outside the safety of our little rural area. In the hours that had passed since we left Wendy's yard, a community wide search formed... and as time continued to pass, divers had been called in to scour Johnson's pond fearing that perhaps we had gone swimming and possibly drowned.
The police officer called our parents, loaded us into his car, and hauled us home. Robin couldn't sit for a week, I was grounded for what seemed like forever, and Wendy? Well, she was out and running the very next day.
And it was all a part of growing up...
Back to you, Snazzy!
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Thanks, Roadhog and bor for the welcomes. Thanks again to Ducks and Baacks for sticking around for more abuse. The post by Ducks sums it up really well. Times were different back then. Now a days if parents don't hold on to their kids they'll dissappear in an instant. Plus it wouldn't be a surprise me to see the parents charged for child neglect for not watching them. Now back to the boring story.
Yep it was 1962 that I turned 10 and went to work for my stepdad. Well, really my mom worked to late to pick me up from school, so dad picked me up to work with him at his shop. It was hard work lifting wet carpets and hanging them on racks to dry. I worked hard and my dad wasn't an easy boss. By the time I was 13, I owned 4 motor scooters. 2 ran and 2 didn't. They were used and I didn't pay more than $100.00 for all of them. They were my pride and joy. Funny I had alot of friends back then. Wonder why?
As time flew by I ended up in high school. My dad's business had grown and I got to hire many of my friends to work. I had a hotrod Chevy that got noticed all over. It was in high school that I met my now x-wife. Lets take a break here and I'll finish later.
This is my first post and just want to say hello. I am considering getting into trucking. I am looking into my options and trying to decide which road to start this journey on. To school or not to school this is the question. Should I jump in with a large company that does the trainning or is there another way?
Welcome, Emil take your shoes off and stay awhile. There will be some trucking stories coming up. Some poor slob asked me what else I've done so of course I had to start my life story. Actually it was Twocycle that asked but I think he gave up and went to Sturgis or Daytona. It is a bore, reading all this, but what the heck ? On with life.
Okay my x and I met in high school. We dated about a year and got married. My stepdad and I had some differences so I ended up working with my father-in-law at an auto repair shop. I'd taken body shop in high school but always was interested in the mechanical part. I learned alot and it stuck with me. My father-in-law was a heavier drinker than my stepdad. So by this time I could out drink most of my buddies. Looking back now that wasn't an easy feat. My oldest daughter was born in 1971. I'd been lucky since being married and having a high draft number I wasn't drafted. Several of the guys I grew up with weren't so lucky. Most came back, some okay, others not as well, and more than one in flagged draped boxs. I have to admitt I was scared to go. I loved my country and even tried to join the marines. I wasn't quite old enough and hadn't finished school. When I tried to get my mom to sign the papers she cried so much I gave up and stayed in school. After the war had gone on and on. I began to wonder what the point of it was. I wasn't a flag burning, pot smoking, protester. But geez, asking a guy to die for his country is one thing. But, go die for someonelses country, that's a bit much. Anyhow, I ended up being laid off at the garage. I job hopped a bit and ended up parking cars for awhile. It was a fun job cause it was a 12 story building with a spiral ramp. We use to race them high dollar Cads, Olds, Ponts, Buicks, and Mercedes to the top. While working there a rich old oil man offered me a job as his private chauffuer. So at the ripe old age of 20, I went from minimum wage ($1.65) to $6.00 bucks an hour. Of course I had an expense account to buy my suits and ties. The stretch limo was mine to take home and I was in tall cotton. However, my wife at the time wasn't to thrilled. She laid the law down. If I took off driving across the country leaving her and my daughter behind, she was leaving me! I helped her pack and took off. The job was great. Me and the old rich man drove to Ohio where a town is named after his family. I learned finance, how much, and when to tip. The fine art of eatting proper. No talking with mouth full, never belch or scratch, always stand to allow the ladies to sit, no elbows on the table, never compliment anyone, always complain, and just act like a rich prick. Yes that's the secret to success. It will take you far. Of course having a couple of millon bucks helps too.
Of couse the guilt trip struck me. I missed my wife and when we returned I looked her up. She was still ticked and it took a few months for us to get back together. In the mean time I was a party animal and struck up a long romance with a one night stand. The old gal was twice my age and everytime I see the Graduate on t.v. I whistle along. Well, men if you have a one night stand. Take it from me, "DON'T TELL YOUR WIFE!" Yep, I was dumb enough to confess thinking she'd forgive and forget, let by gones be by gones, water under the bridge, no big deal, we all make mistakes, etc..,etc. Well if ya'll ever have wondered where the term grudge puss came from. It began in Fort Worth, Texas in April of 1973. Luckily it wasn's a port city and the sixth fleet wasn't in town. My goodness ladies when my wife came for a visit I swear if she'd tossed her panties they'd stuck to ceiling. Holly cow, give a guy a break. Geez, I was crushed. To be honest it hurt like hell. Of course it could be argued I had it coming. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. If you play with fire you'll get burnt. Whatever.
SO, we rocked along. I forgave her, she me, and till this day I'm sure we both feel like jerks. Not a good subject for me. The old man had oilfields in Anson, Texas just outside of Abilene. We'd go there at least once a month to check on things. The rich man had a girlfriend who was a retired school mom. So I'd drop him off and stay at the Holiday Inn. One of the trips the oilfield crew was short handed. I changed out of my suit and put on jeans. A roughneck I were. The old man paid me extra and agreed I could make extra money anytime I worked the fields. Like I said there were some truck stories coming up. Lets take a break and we'll start them when I return.
love the part about you working . I grew up in a German- catholic neighbor hood where " keeping up wiht the Jones" was more about how many kids you could have than money. we held our own on the kids side, five girls in seven years with me the oldest( three boys later). My dad was a Fuller Brush man. You and I are probably the onley ones who know what that is, ha.
since Everybody in our neighborhood had so many kids we all had lots of chores. not to brag but i think thats why I made such a good mom. I had lots of practice
I went to an all girl catholic school run by Sister of The Most Precious Blood. but that's another time but it does help me to identify with your little faux pas with the older gal.please continue 'cause I check the sight first thing every morning. you're like the old serials. can't wait for the next installment!
We'd get our eggs directly from the farm... and if you candled your eggs, sometimes you'd find a double-yolk'er in there and could lay claim to it for your next breakfast!
Yep, by reading over your replies I guess I'm not alone going down memory lane. I recall a blind man selling brushes door to door. It was something like Light House for the Blind ? I remember when living at grandma's the Fuller Brush guy was at the front door trying to sale his ware. Grandma explained that since Grandpa was blind she only bought from the Light House man. As they were talking low and behold the Light House blind salesman came up the walk with his white cane and drum in his hand, (drum was slang for the large suitcase the door to door guys carried). The Fuller man quickly went to assist the blind man up the steps. Grandma was so taken by the Fuller man's compassion that she ended up buying from both in equal amounts. As the two salesmen were leaving the Fuller Brush man's leg fell off at the knee. It ended up that he had lost his leg from the knee down on D-DAY by stepping on a mine. The blind man had lost his sight when his bazooka malfunctioned in the same action. Talk about a small world, it ended up they both were wounded in action on the day and not more then a few hundred yards from one another. Of course neither man had known each other. As the two left each assisting the other I noticed Gandma was crying. I rode my stick horse over to comfort her. That's when I caught Grandpa out of the corner of my eye. He had been sitting the in the living room, next to the den, with the glass french style doors half open. Grandpa was blind, had lost his left shoulder and arm to cancer, and went from being a 200 lb, 6' man, to just a shell of a man. But, there he was standing at attention and saluting the two veterans. I have to break.
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