Grandpa drove his white Taystee Bread truck down our street, opened up the back and told any kid lucky enough to be outside at the time to jump in and grab a Mickey Banana Flip or Devils Food Cake.
We played kickball in the street and yelled CAR! before scattering to the curb like bugs.
Mom would vacuum at night after she put my brother, sister and me to bed. Somehow I felt loved watching the vacuum’s front headlight under my bedroom door.
When I was kid…
My dog was so big I laid on top of him like a gigantic, fluffy pillow.
My friend John and I sneaked out before dawn, rode around town and dumpster dove for ten-cent bottles and cans. We got lucky sometimes and found a stash of Playboy Magazines.
My dad took the whole family to Tiger Stadium in Detroit where I fell in love with baseball.
When I was a kid…
We had a mailman named John who walked his entire route. He wore a smart, light blue uniform with a dark blue stripe down his neatly creased pants. He seemed like the happiest and friendliest man alive.
We had a stereo half the size of our living room and mom shook our tiny house with Elvis, Tom Jones and Bob Seger.
I kissed girls on the playground of my Catholic elementary school and got in big trouble for it by less-than-amused nuns.
I wanted to be the Six Million Dollar Man so badly, I “ran” to school in slow motion and told other kids I was bionic and I worked for the government.
When I was a kid…
We carved our names in the cement and bought bags of candy for a quarter.
John Cougar told us to hold on to sixteen as long as we can, and we did.
We had MTV, Pac-Man, and cassette tapes that warped from overplaying and faded in the sun.
The older I get, the more grateful I become. I live for today. I’m hopeful for tomorrow. And I’m thankful for the warm places of the past I can still visit. Oh, and I still think I’m bionic and I can see you.
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