Once Upon a Time

Once Upon a Time...staying on track

In 1948, a little boy took off down a railroad track near a small town in Central Arkansas. The lad was only eight hundred yards from the entrance to the circular driveway in front of his grandparents’ farmhouse, but there was plenty of trouble he could get into.

It was mid summer, a sticky day, not a cloud in the sky. He had been on the track many times in his young life; he knew the next passenger train was to roll southbound in four hours time.

In thirty minutes though, the lad would be forced to scamper back to the farmhouse, rush through the front door, find the nearest closet and urinate in his grandfather’s goulashes.

There were no cameras back then to document such a childish act.

In fact the young boy had more than one thing on his mind at the time; he had ants in his pants. Back on the track, he had chased a squirrel some two hundred yards and he needed to sit down and take in a deep breath or two.

Unfortunately, he had sat smack dab on an anthill. He learned a couple of things that afternoon: do not urinate in grandpa’s goulashes and stay away from anthills.

We learn quickly. Even at four years of age.

As for his short treks along the railroad track, the lad would continue to do so from time to time.

The years would pass quickly. He sprouted upward like a giant unruly plant, it seemed — at least in the eyes of his grandparents — and now, at the age of thirteen, he had turned that clumsy gait as a four-year-old, into a rhythmic march, as he headed into town.

A two-mile journey was up ahead toward an exit that led to the closest hardware store — the bell overhead, would signal his arrival.

Grandpa had walked the old track with him many times. When they had reached town, the first order of business inside the hardware store was to open the canister filled with sugar cookies and, under the watchful eye of the proprietor of course, devour a handful of the tasty delights.

This particular day was no different. With a cookie or two left in his hands, the teenager walked back outside, sat on a bench with two old men who, at one point, were discussing the price of soybeans before moving on to a conversation on how to solve the world’s problems.

I was that little boy back in 1948. The photo at the beginning of this story is my young grandson, Fallon, currently exploring his own railroad track in Western Colorado.

Fast forward a good seventy-odd years since that itchy day I had ants in my pants and my little section of railroad track has now expanded into a world — a world so much bigger than an anthill.

I have made the long journey, witnessed this big land of ours, the people in it; the ups and downs of life…and faced all the obstacles along the way.

My moment in time.

And now it is Fallon’s turn. I will not be around to see him marry, raise a family nor will I witness him maneuver through all the obstacles he must face during his adult life as he follows his path…his journey…his moment in time.

For now, as I close in on my eighth decade on this earth, I feel confident the young man in the photo above will remain on track, be successful and leave his mark on this earth.