313 Wagon Wheel Drive

313 Wagonwheel Drive

I Went for a haircut yesterday and of course took the back way down Shell Road and through Rolling Acres to avoid the horrendous traffic they have on Leopard Street (Hiway 9) now. I decided to take Wagonwheel instead of the direct route through on Rolling Acres Dr.

There was a young, nice looking, dark haired woman out front at 313 watering her yard under a lot of shady trees. Evidence of young children living there were scattered about.

Looks like the house has had siding installed or freshly painted. The garage looks smaller than I remembered it. The yard and grass looked nice, but I could have told her that her grass will never do really well with that much shade over it.

Thought about stopping and chatting with her about all the things past. Like my introduction to slivers of garlic in a roast that I had first been introduced to there back in the mid fifties. The lambs and other FHA projects that had been raised there. The old Plymouth that took us everywhere, sometimes fishing, hunting or to ball games and the drive in movies. The older girls, practicing their cheerleading and their laughter and squeals about boys and dates they were talking about. The serious talks they would admonish us with about how to do right so girls would like us when we grew up. The meals served to us by a hard working single mother trying to make it at a clerks job, raising three young children and sharing with their friends, that which she could ill afford to, but did anyway. Nights spent chatting and snickering about things only kids talk about, but which are so important to growing up. Plans and dreams of greatness, jobs we would have to afford the things that we so dearly wanted when we grew up and the things we would do for our moms so they would be happy and not have to work all the time. All the classmates that lived in the neighborhood that we shared our growing up experiences with, not knowing what the future would bring us or our families far into the future. The trials, tribulations, successes, failures and even loss of loved ones, including our moms. The things that have shaped us to where we are today.

Yes, I thought about stopping, but figured she would have thought I was just some sort of old geezer, maybe wandering, lost in his pickup truck. She wouldn't have had a clue.

Reflections by Mark Crider

Story ID:	3599
Written by:	Mark Crider (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Corpus Christi Coating & Machine Inc.
Location:	Corpus Christi Texas U.S.A.
Year:	1974