Sometimes, I think I’m getting old

You know, I am thinking that birthdays are made for memories.

I lived in a log house as a kid. We had some chickens and a garden, carried drinking water from a mountain spring, had a fan for summer and a screen door to welcome the cool night breezes into our little home.

I slept upstairs in a tiny bed and longed for those visiting thunderstorms and the sound of raindrops on the tin roof. Thundering booms, shadows creeping through green window blinds and the light show created something special.

There was a wood stove to cook our meals and keep us warm in the winter. No oil furnaces, no air conditioning, and get this one, no telephones to wake or disturb us.

It seems a bit strange I carry a pocket iPhone today that connects me to the world and can answer most questions.

In those old days, we found a raspberry patch at the top of a farmer’s field. My grandmother, with a few grandkids in tow, would fill our buckets with these black beauties and return home to make the queen of pies and some jam for pancakes.

Can you believe years later some farmer sprayed all those wild raspberry plants and killed them?

As another birthday found me, I paused and reflected on those yesterdays to remember all those special gifts I was given.

Playing baseball on that nearby school ground where I was educated in two little rooms was a special gift.

It was pretty neat walking to school and learning about writing, history, math, science and other topics.

I regret to say we didn’t have any early schooling on sex education, politics or some other necessities of life; we didn’t have armed guards either.

It’s hard to imagine that I have observed so many changes over these birthday years.

Life in Dargan was a whole lot different than most of the world, but I sort of had a fondness for the way I grew up.

Television was pretty nice. We had but a few channels like 4, 5, 7 and 9. I always enjoyed watching the news. It seemed very informative, truthful and honest in those days, but I’ve learned that nothing stays the same forever.

I always liked to watch the Alfred Hitchcock show. Many strange tales were found in those episodes. If old Alfred were still alive today, I bet he could tell some even stranger tales.

I don’t recall reading many news headlines about young people wanting to buy rifles and go out and randomly kill other people.

I know those stories may have existed, but I don’t remember them. Perhaps we didn’t have enough news channels to watch.

After leaving that little two-room school for the big lights of Boonsboro Middle and High School that learning seemed to grow right along with me.

Names like Newton, McDonald, Beckanbaugh, Arnold, Scott, Riley, Ramsburg, Smith, Wells, Schamel, Braithwaite, and many other fine teachers were there to welcome you, provide an education, and give you a good whack on the backside if necessary. I remember getting one of those whacks for throwing raisins in a television class one afternoon.

That whack helped me become a better citizen; at least I went to prison as an employee and not a troublemaker in 1969. Three years of active duty in the Army and my trip to Vietnam most likely contributed to my maturity as well. I still make my bed these days and that discipline learned in the military has served me well.

My daughter, Amy, even learned how to mow straight lines and our yards are well-manicured. She is a most special gift to her parents.

Memories of special people who were part of my early life, and so many others along the way, helped make my birthdays something special.

I will never forget all those special gifts of my journey.

And growing up was not all bad, either. New gadgets like my 29-year-old artificial hip and two knees helped in my navigation.

So with my tiny flask of blackberry libation in hand during a recent time of reflection, I almost felt like singing an old George Strait favorite:

"I was a young troubadour when I rode in on a song and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gone."

And thanks to you too for tagging along.

Cheers!

Lloyd "Pete" Waters is a Sharpsburg resident who writes for The Herald-Mail.

This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: Birthday memories take us way back