Remember When

One thought crossed my mind when Mr. Charlie Caskey wheeled that big Ford into our driveway.

I didn’t know why a police officer was at my house. But if I was involved, I’d probably get it as soon as Daddy gets home.

Mr. Charlie opened the back door of the sedan and out jumped good old Tiger, my beloved bulldog.

There was no such thing as a leash law. Nobody needed one, seeing how just about everybody in the neighborhood had a big old dog that ran loose. That’s why Mr. Charlie knew exactly where Tiger lived.

I had pulled my Radio Flyer wagon all the way from Chesterfield Avenue and down White Street to the back of Parr Brothers Furniture only to be disappointed.

I needed about one side of a cardboard refrigerator carton to finish my secret hideout, but it won’t get finished today.

Somebody had beaten me to the treasure; the trash bin was empty as a red clay mudhole in the middle of summer.

I was grateful to see warmer weather and the yellow bells and azaleas in bloom. Things were going pretty good until the telephone rang.

Then I was shaken back into reality with the news that a close friend had passed away.

Then almost without warning, three more unexpected deaths reduced my circle of longtime friends.

Someone once remarked that when we pass the age of 65, we began to live on borrowed time.

Frankly, I’m hoping that our Maker will grant me a few more years of leniency on that loan.

I recently crossed paths with an old friend while going inside “the Walmarts,” where Lancaster’s movers and shakers meet these days.

And right off the cuff, he called me a city boy.

That was bad enough, but he didn’t stop there.

It really made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when he said, “According to your articles in the paper, all you do is go to grammar school and build them cardboard airplanes.”