Old Hallways....

Wandering around the old hallways in my head,

I find doors that lead to other doors, and dust covered memories of stuff that I didn’t think mattered anymore. Brush away the cobwebs and blow off the dust and bring them out to the window where the sun can shine on them. Just like that, they are warm and alive again. Playing out in front of the mind’s eye, they dance on the dust, lit by the glow of the sun….

Looking back, I may not have been the easiest kid in the clan. Funny how most of the memories I wander across are connected to trouble I got into. I didn’t know it at the time, but I guess Mom worked at least two jobs most of the time we were growing up. (You try keeping three kids in Keds, so to speak.)

I might have taken advantage of that “here and there.”

Visiting with Mom last week I was reminded of getting caught skipping school in 4th Grade. And getting caught breaking INTO the school in 3rd grade. (No vandalism in mind. That’s just where the books were. My sisters are right. I was a weird kid.)

Funny, I don’t remember too many times when I got away with whatever I was up to. It's as if the getting caught, and the ruckus that it raised, is just as fun and cherished a part of the memory as the acts themselves.

Something else I don’t remember? Not once, not ever, do I remember being cold or hungry. Hot? (Hell, yes. It was West Texas in the 60’s and 70’s. It used to rain steam in August.. when it wasn’t raining dust. Oh yeah, almost forgot -- Uphill, both ways….)

But we didn’t go hungry. And I always felt loved. Thanks to working at the Sheriff's Office, I have the mixed privelege of seeing divorced parents who couldn’t get along while they were married, so they make a point of not getting along now that they are divorced, and they take turns using the kids as the weapon of choice.

Never got that. Still don't. Maybe it's because Mom and Dad always made sure we knew they both loved us. And that they were together in wanting what they felt was best for us.

So, any credit that I can take for Heather growing up a decent, confident, contributing human being (so far, so good) has to go back, at least in some part, to you, Mom, and to those memories.

Guess they still matter, after all.

Thank you, both. I love you, Mom!

Butch