MEMORY LANE
written by : Jeffrey R Hilton
I feel fortunate that in spite of many hardships growing up; I think I had a great childhood.
As an adult now and hearing about many others childhoods, I know I was lucky.
my parents never beat me or abused me. They were not really drinkers, so I never even saw them drunk. Don't get me wrong. I was smacked, whacked, spanked. made to stand in the corner and felt a belt on my ass a few times. Of course I was totally innocent of any wrongdoings as a kid can be that's pleading innocence and batting eyelashes that could melt chocolate in the hands of little old ladies. I was grounded and even went to bed with no supper more than a few times. I think it all worked out pretty good in the end.
Looking back, mischievous by nature, I did get into a lot of trouble, but usually it was innocent trouble if that even makes sense and mild in comparison. There, is a little bit of that leftover justification again.
I grew up on a small dairy farm in a huge farmhouse occupied by my grandparents that adopted my father when he was three years old. Also my Aunt,Uncle and two cousins. One of which was a boy a few years older than me. We all had separate living quarters in the house. I was the oldest in my family of four brothers at the time.
Later I was to lose my brother next down in age to me from the result of a tragic accident that left him a quadriplegic. I was also to gain a sister. The first and last, as my father passed away suddenly after an operation from cancer two days before my 18th birthday. I was devastated, as was everyone. I did what most any 18 year old would do. I rebelled. My mom went off the rails and was in and out of hospitals for the rest of her life with depression and even a few suicide attempts later in life. Yes there were bad days and good days and some days I wished could last forever.
Growing up with older cousins lent itself to adventure and dares around him and his friends and usually centered around and at the farm.
Sometimes even at faraway destinations we had pedaled our bikes to.
I was and am still adventurous. But I am cautiously adventurous. Well, I was younger than those other guys so when we all climbed up the ladder and onto the beam at the top of the barn. It looked like a long way down to that hay. Once it was determined that there was no way they were going to talk me into jumping first they jumped one by one. Suddenly I felt very alone and scared up there and began in ernest psyching myself up to jump to the taunts shouted from below. When that quieted down I jumped and instantly thought that wasn't so bad. Next time up I was scared to as the level of the hay was a long way down, but I jumped after the same fanfare.
Our grandfather who was Swedish, became very angry whenever he discovered us playing up in the hayloft with other kids as he was afraid of someone getting hurt and a lawsuit against him. This created some really good fun. We became soldiers and built tunnels all through the second story loft. We watched with posted sentries through cracks in the barn boards at anyone approaching the barn. We held drills and dove into our tunnels and disappeared at the sign of any trouble. The reward for getting caught in the loft by grandpa was to be dragged down the stairs and through the pig pen and through the milking stalls and out through the milk house and outside. All this while he was twisting your ear with a death grip that would make your ear ring for a week afterwards. We didn't do this much after my uncle pulled me out of a tunnel that had collapsed on me and my cousin had ran for help.
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Do Have A Good Day And A Long Memory.
Jeffrey R Hilton
