Today, on the way from my cousin’s house back to my parents’ home, I took the boys by to see a couple of places I used to live. One was in Vilonia, and I was curious to see if the house had been damaged by the tornado. It hadn’t, but others on that street were missing roofs and many trees had been stripped. It was sobering. I did get to show Jeffrey the hill we used to ride our bikes down when I was thirteen. The steep, curvy hill. (Simpson Road in downtown Vilonia, if you’re familiar with the area). Fortunately, we came to our senses before someone got hit by a car or went flying off the road into the creek.
Then I drove them over to see the house I grew up in. The one that was once on a gravel road with no name and more cows than houses. It’s now a paved road full of subdivisions and duplexes. (Leslie Road) We drove down Middle Road to Rooster Road. Yeah, we’re country. At least we used to be. I used to know all the people on Rooster Road who owned said roosters. That was a long time ago. What used to be a little gravel road is now a paved road with painted lines and a traffic light at the highway intersection. We’re big-time now.
Time moves on, things change, and life goes on. It’s kind of weird, but it’s okay. I’m glad, though that I grew up there when I did, back when we could walk or ride our bikes all over the place. Catching crawdads in the creek. Walking through the cow pasture to get to my friend’s house. Riding bikes with my parents over to my dad’s best friend’s house on Rooster Road. I got a dandy scar on my chin from the gravel on Middle Road when I decided to slam on my bike brakes going downhill one day. Good times.