Once again, I became involved in a conversation about Alamosa back in “the day.”
Yes, it was a more tranquil place, where people got along, kids played outdoors and life was good.
At least, it was good for kids, all except the old man down the street, who didn’t want anyone of the younger persuasion anywhere near his property.
His crab apples tasted better than those on my grandmother’s tree, even though that switch he wielded stung worse than her fly swatter did.
My paternal grandfather always swore that “stolen fruit tasted sweeter,” and followed up with stories of swiping watermelons back in Missouri.
He called it “the old country,” and I was about three when, to my dismay, I learned that Missouri was part of the USA.
My mom’s sister once got into a big fight with a neighbor girl, and fists flew when they began name-calling.
It’s amazing what happens when a child learns something new for the first time. I asked what some of the names they called each other meant, and received some swats to the rear end for asking.
I swear I wouldn’t repeat anything.
My mom simply said that those words were really bad, in a tone of voice that implied that the skin would peel off my tongue if I uttered even one.
It took me about 15 minutes to work up the courage to say the one I understood the least.
Take it from one who knows, Lava Soap didn’t taste good -- and I didn’t die.
For the complete article see the 10-17-2013 issue.
Click here to purchase an electronic version of the 10-17-2013 paper.