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Summer time, ridin’ time

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webmaster | 07/27/13

School wouldn’t start until after Labor Day, or maybe when the harvest was in. I was too young to work for dad at his airport crop dusting business. The summer of 1959 seemed to be all fun, all day.

I woke up, brushed my teeth with Pepsodent and combed my hair. In the kitchen, mom (step-mother Gail) chopped meat, vegetables and potatoes on the same cutting board with the same knife preparing a delicious dinner for me and dad. I poured a bowl of Alpha Bits. “Don’t play with your cereal,” said Mom as I was creating the word BIKE with the cereal letters floating in my Hopalong Cassidy milk.

Finished, it was out to the garage and my Schwinn Spitfire. I checked the tires and found a piece of glass not quite into the tube. I pulled it out with my fingers and proceeded to cut my forefinger. I ran inside and showed mom. She wiped her hands on her apron and got out the bottle of mercurochrome and a Band-Aid. I grimaced with the sting of the red liquid. She patted me on top of the head after gently wrapping the Band-Aid around my pinky.

“I’m going to town on my bike,” I said. She opened the fridge took out some baloney and mustard and quickly made me a sandwich and wrapped it in wax paper. I put it in the small pouch hooked to the back of my bicycle seat and was off for a ride...


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