Hometown Shout Out

Where I grew up, there was no dinner bell.

There was a dinner yell.

It came from my sister. Every evening, she would walk out the back door, step onto the carport and summon her inner train whistle.


The wind could have been blowing 30 miles per hour. I could have been eight blocks away. It didn’t matter.

Somehow, when that call went out, I heard it.

In for a bite. Back out to play.

If you weren’t having fun in those days, you weren’t trying.

My buddies and I lived on our bicycles. We rode them across town and into high water when it rained. We rode them behind the town’s mosquito fogger, losing ourselves in a white cloud. When we needed more horsepower, we attached a motor, courtesy of a baseball card in the spokes.

I once arranged a bike race around the block between two friends, each taking off in opposite directions. They met where they started, crashing head-on.

I collected Mad magazines, hung out in a treehouse and skated on frozen ponds Missouri-style — without blades. When it snowed, it was tackle football in my neighbor’s lot.

We stole Budweisers from the fridge and played Spin-the-Bottle in my friend’s basement.

It was a great time and place to be a kid.


6 thoughts on “Hometown Shout Out

  1. please keep going….:) how about a novel about your entire life from the very first memory? love your style of writing. I could feel that fog machine on my face…the card in your spokes.
    My mom had a whistle for us kids..like you it came to me thru the breeze….”COOOMMMMIIINGGG” was all i had to reply knowing I had a few minutes to head tail it back home~….

  2. I also vote for the novel ! Love reading your blogs , takes me back to my
    childhood. Kids today don’t have a clue what they have missed.

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