Ahhh, born in 1942 my childhood was close to perfect. If only I would have gotten that pony.
Life in the early 1950’s is rendered in crystalline purity. Refrigerators are replacing the icebox and television is new on the scene. The times were simpler, the choices fewer, and the freedom greater, as the kid navigates through daily life on the island, joined by Dickey, Larry, and the whole gang.
There’s one thing that sets him apart from most of his friends. He has a ton of schemes rolling around in his noggin. He plays alone for hours and hours perfecting his Wild West Good-guy image. He’s the fastest draw, cleanest cut ‘yes maam’ cowboy on the planet. When he saunters into a saloon, he orders sarsaparilla. He has no idea what it is, but he knows it ain’t “whisky”. Whisky’s what the bad guys order. Since as long as he can remember he’s wanted a horse, but no matter how much he begs, his parents don’t budge.
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At seventy-seven, I’m at the beginning of a new chapter in a life filled with blessings from above, adventure, love of family, and kinships reaching into the heavens and to God himself. —AND— I love to tell a story.