Post # 7

They were simpler times. We were never bored, we always had something to do, mostly made up things like building forts or tree houses out of discarded lumber. Searching for salamanders or snakes. Riding our bicycles to the end of the street.

The best year of my life I realized later, was when I was ten. I knew right from wrong but was too young in adult eyes to be seriously blamed for dong mischievous things. ‘He’s just a kid.” Loved those words. That all changed at twelve as the grownups tried to prepare us for adolescence instilling a sense of responsibility. The first was right from wrong. Good from bad and evil. It was a black and white time, the nebulous grey area that destroys families, societies and countries was kept in check. Information and knowledge was definitive and the path to strength and power. Neither had yet become internet spongy.

My knowledge was culled from a triad of sources; my family, my woods and my elementary school. Jonas Perkins Elementary loomed proud and yellow at the foot of Liberty and Commercial Streets in East Braintree. It was a three story, bright yellow wooden structure square and imposing. Just the place for learning. The wood floors in the hallways creaked and echoed with the glee of kids and racket of passage between classes. Mrs Bell, a massive woman squinted from behind tiny granny glasses a grass snake at us pseudo -delinquents. It was in the fifth grade that I had my first male teacher, Mister Harris.