Posts Tagged growing up in a small town

Just A Boy! It’s Here!

Just A Boy - Cover“JUST A BOY”—my new book—is now available! The paperback can be purchased on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and through the publisher, Outskirts Press. Now available on Amazon Kindle, too!





Click on any of the four links above to purchase your copy!





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Free to Roam

We were some mighty lucky kids, getting to grow up in a small town in the fifties and sixties. It seemed the desert and hills around Buckeye, Arizona belonged to no one (as far as we knew), and we were free to roam them at will. We could pick up rocks, arrowheads, firewood, you name it; it was ours if we found it first.

When we were in high school, my buddy, Greg Stanley, and I decided we’d try our hand at selling firewood. You wouldn’t think firewood to be a desirable commodity in the dessert, but it does get cold (you know, like under fifty degrees) in the winter, and some folks do have fireplaces.

On one of our trips, we had a pretty good load on the trailer by evening, so we set up camp, and after a hearty meal of steak cooked over a fire in our handy cast-iron skillet, and potatoes baked in foil and buried under the fire pit… y’all know that ain’t true, right? I don’t recall for certain, but the fare was probably more along the lines of potato chips and root beer with Hostess cup cakes for desert.

Anyway, I awoke the next morning with a warm breeze wafting across my face. It was an odd breeze—off again/on again—and seemed kind of moist. It also seemed entirely too regular. It was almost as though… something LARGE was… BREATHING on me? My eyes shot open!

cowHave you ever awakened with a cow’s face two inches from your own? It’s horrifying! Especially, when you have no idea what it is!

I screamed (yes, probably like a little girl), rolled away, and was running full-tilt one direction, as the steer galloped off in the other. Greg… was, of course, laughing hysterically. He’d watched the whole scene transpire as he sat quietly sipping orange juice. I wonder if he ever tells this story? Or even remembers it?

Yessir, them was the good ol’ days.

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