THE SHOE LEATHER EXPRESS

shoe leather expressThe difference between now and then is like comparing the internet to CB radios. I’ll bet there is more than half of the people reading this that have used the term “10-4” to answer “yes” or “I got it.” When I ask some people for their e-mail address by posing the question, “What’s your handle?” few get it. I should stop using it, but it’s worth the smile… and memories…

The old fashioned attitude of days gone by with the freedom afforded us in society in those days left opportunities. Opportunities to respond the way we were led and the kind that legends are made of.

Kids get driven pretty much everywhere they go these days, but that wasn’t the case in the pre-CB radio days. Even as a kindergartener we walked to school and not by modern means… by all means. The trails led through bamboo forests, people’s unfenced yards where dogs we prayed were chained up, but rarely were. The shoe leather worn paths even led us past old man Hatchet’s place. It was common knowledge he’d kill young trespassers on sight… while eating fried chicken. Running fast was a natural part of life in the old days, so was cortisol from stress, we just didn’t know it had a name back then.

My dad warned my second oldest brother repeatedly about not holding his intestinal air. My oldest brother and I wouldn’t have been as bold as number two. It wasn’t the dead of winter, but it was downright chilly. Too chilly to have the windows down in the old hand crank Mercury.

A few more giggles from the backseat of the seatbeltless old car with another devious grin and number two did it again… plum crazy… “I told you, boy! – No more! – One more time and you’ll walk home!” You didn’t question your dad, well not ours for sure, in those days. Little was left open to discussion… Fun was fun, but when “dad” said “enough!” it was fair warning… to go  beyond that was to tempt fate in a losing proposition. The school bully was like cotton candy next to the wrath of our dad.

It wasn’t but a few seconds later when our brave or crazy brother crossed our dad again without even an attempt to roll the windows down in the backseat… to the dismay of my oldest brother and I. Not to mention the ire of the enforcer that was always armed with his thin black leather belt, that sounded like a machine gun, as the not so innocent tip of the belt snapped at the belt loops on his pants as he’d pull it at warp speed from his waist. That sound alone could melt hard men… and boys.

Our dad hit the brakes hard as he pulled over to the side of road not much north of the only market in town that sold Icee’s, but I wasn’t thinking about Icee’s at that moment. “Get out!” he said in a tone just a decibel under a yell. Number two brother looked slightly confused through his patented grin that would be his trademark for life during times of trouble… which would usually mean trouble for someone else.

The king of the castle and the Comet repeated himself just a hair louder and the voice raising an octave at the end of the warning for effect, “Get out!!!” Our middle brother was on the edge of laughing as he got out of the old four door family car. He shut the door and off my dad went. My oldest brother who is seven years older than me smiled… but was careful enough not to laugh… just in case…

I can’t remember if anything was said on our drive home, but I remember the smile and pride on our dad’s face as we pulled up to the house… Bobby was breathing hard with his trademark grin on his face for having beat us home… on foot… A legend was born and a real life lesson learned.

I often wonder if that isn’t’ exactly the kind of parenting this society is so desperately missing these days…

I still have no idea how on God’s green earth my brother beat us home… I’ve asked him now and then how he did it over the last forty years… He just grins…