Thursday, December 27, 2007

Memories in a trash can

When you recall your growing up stories, do you tend to picture them a bit more heavenly than they really were? I think we all do this most of the time, it's probably a coping mechanism or a bit of denial. Who knows? I remember growing up at 911 Rosewood Dr in Yuma, Az. My brothers and I didn't have a pool in the backyard, so we would improvise with whatever was handy. When our cousins would come to visit in the summer we would play in the water outside (since it got up to 120 degrees at times).

However, the problem lay in the fact that once again, we didn't have a pool. As you all know, those type of roadblocks mean nothing to a group of elementary kids dying to splash around in water. Oh the days when computer & video graphics were meager images of a man with 300/20 vision, we had imagination and ingenuity to drive us to bigger worlds outside of the conventional pool.

What we had was a huge, but clean, trash can. This was our goldmine. We filled up the simulated pool with water, which seemed to have taken over an hour. Then, one by one, b/c that's all that would fit in there, we would climb up into the pseudo singular swimming pool and dip down and up. If we were really feeling lucky, two of us would go in at one time. Man, white trash was the days for us.

excursion; unfortunately, there is no photo of our glorious swimming hole. However, you can see a photo of my brother Andrew & cousin Debonie filling up Andrew's old infant bath tub. After looking at these photos IMy brother recently sent me some photos from this can't help but think, where in the world were our parents? And why were they allowing us to be dubbed as people from the other side of the tracks? I never realized that maybe we truly had, "redneck roots," as my brother Andrew would call it.

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