A Time In America

I remember having family reunions as many as 300 people gathered in from three states.

Getting to together with neighbors. Kids playing Hide and Seek; in the dark.

The picture of all the ladies in their dresses. I can remember a scene like that.

We were kids. Who cares what the Russians and Chinese were doing. I remember my uncle’s saying. “Better Dead Than Red.”

The world spun differently, on a different axis, or something like that.

Then ROCK N ROLL, Vietnam and girls and Hippies. The world. “Went To Hell In A Hand Basket.”

My Father only cursed near the barn. Momma didn’t like cursing. She said. “It’s to close to the Circus.” Then she would emphasize. “Sir Cuss.”

That’s where all the perverts reigned supreme.

My Dad got a good job teaching first, second and third grade to a bunch of juvenile criminals at the Kansas State Industrial Reformatory in Hutchinson.

Life was good. My Dad would bring me home; homemade shives made the inmates.

My younger brother and got our haircuts at the Reformatory. These were the guys learning to cut hair.

I wanted a Mohawk haircut. My Dad must have given them the high sign, because he run the clippers right down the middle.

“Maybe next time!”
Brozme
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