I THINK MY DAD really wanted me to be buddies with Matt Caldwell, who lived far at the end of the street. (Barbara Hoppes house today if I am not mistaken.) I thought even at age 12 he was wild and uncouth and more like a juvenile delinquent than a potential friend in my terms. After a couple bizarre incidents with him involved that violated what was to me simply good sense or behavior, he kind of disappeared, perhaps actually ending up in reform school. I think my dad may have been looking for a friend for me that we could both relate to, and had a lot of trouble doing that. Maybe he was seeing the little ignorant untamed country boy that he, my dad, had once been, or felt guilty than he had been. (Probably much less worse than he worried, but I have NO CLUE.) I skipped that phase, so never had to be painted, per se, with civilization as I grew up . . . . . . .Longer story to come about this, kind of funny. Involving two things, one of which required vacuuming the lawn. Of feathers, which is even less ideal for hoovering when done on grass. Better without feathers.
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 21:21:00 +0000
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