An Ode To Being A Kid

My best friend since age 8 called me a couple of days before my 74th birthday. We were reminiscing about the old days growing up in Boone, Iowa. During the winter months and after a big snow we'd haul out our shovels and go knocking on doors looking for work.

We'd scout out the homes of the elderly hoping they were too feeble to get outside. My neighbor on the east side of the house was about 5,000 years old so she was a great candidate.

Since we were kids we didn't understand costs and how to put the pressure on the customer. An example being: "Would you like your walk shoveled?". What we should have said was, "We''ll shovel your walk for only $1.00". Dumb us. The old lady on the east side of my house gave us the go ahead and when we were done she gave us the paltry sum of 35 cents. Crimminy sakes alive! That only provided us with the funds to purchase one ticket to the movie theater along with a box of popcorn.

Our neighbor cattywompus from us were named, oddly enough, Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor. They had a corner lot. They always gave us $2.00 for our toil. It probably worked out the same as what we were given my the cheapskate next door timewise, but we didn't see it that way.

It seems to me we had much more snow in the '50's than we do today. Then I started looking at what's happening in Iowa, especially in NE, NW and the east central part of the State this year. Ain't no difference.

Anyway, sometimes Muss and I would make $5.00. In other words, a king's ransom. It seems impossible now but aside from the fifty cents to go to the movies, a coke(in a bottle, of course) cost a dime. If one wanted to fill the coke bottle with a bag of Planters peanuts it'd cost a nickel.

I used to take my grandchildren on a trip down memory lane but they could care less. In Boone we had two fantastic dairies; one on the north end of town and the other on the south end. The owner was Mr. Boyd. They make the very best malts in the world for twenty-five cents.

When I was ten years old I bought an Alvin Dark signature baseball bat for the princely sum of $2.50. I broke it on my very first swing. Damn the luck. I didn't cry though and I hadn't properly learned to swear so I chalked it up to experience.

There is no point to this blog piece except to allow me to think about growing up many, many years ago in the Land of Oz.