The Railroad Tracks : Listening to My Parents

As a young boy of eleven, I learned to have fun near the railroad tracks. The Chesapeake and Ohio railroad company (now CSX) generously offered their land to me and my buddies as our private playground. We humbly accepted.

The tracks were gloriously located at the end of my street. Within minutes, I could jeopardize my life and the lives of many of my friends. Oh, the glory of being free.

My parents said the tracks were off-limits. In case I, their idiot savant son, didn't understand their reasoning, they included a death penalty clause. (If only I could have comprehended their language!) The tracks soon became my preferred hangout.

My buddies and I would walk the tracks, discuss life and discover the nearby marshes, creeks, abandoned shacks and Civil War redoubts.

It was in this nurturing environment I learned the ways of the firecracker, cherry bomb, ash can and the true M-80. It was the early sixties and America was proud to allow their boys to experiment with explosives. Ah, freedom. It mixes so well with young boy stupidity when a destructive device is nearby. Vive la Liberte!

While mentally obtuse in many areas of school, I quickly learned the patois of ze railroad track and the proper response to a railroad guard's query. The time to start running is right around the "E" in ... "HEY, YOU!"

I was never caught, but I did change my underwear a few times.

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