Growing up I heard elders repeating the same worn out saying over and over “Don’t rush. Growing up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”, but like any advice told to a youth it was advice that had fallen on def ears.
I’m writing this article today because I found myself recently giving that same advice to a young adult.
I raced through my childhood looking forward to such trivial things as being of age while sometimes taking for granted the small things I assumed would always be a part of it.
As an adult when you reach the stage where age begins to become just another ever increasing number that seems to climb faster and faster you start to remember the times you’ve lost along the way.
Growing up with dad working at Kingsford to keep food on the table in a loving home with the stereotypical outhouse perched at the edge of the property, carrying water from the water hole along 72 to heat on the wood stove for my evening bath, and spending weekends hiking in the mountains looking for the cluster of red berries perched on the top of ginseng plants to dig for extra cash.
I may not have had a wealthy childhood but what I did have was a great one. My childhood was one where I was as at home in the mountains as I was in my bed. I often left my mom a bit worried as I strolled in late just coming out of the holler from eating some wild berries and drinking some fresh mountain spring water.
I learned the value of hard work salvaging cars and other scrap metal with my dad in his old pieced together ton and a half flatbed that quite literally could have been the inspiration for the Johnny Cash “One Piece at a Time” song.
These are all fond memories of things I used to do as a kid and while I’m lucky enough to still have both of my parents around to sometimes get a chance to relive a bit of my childhood the reality is that at the end of the day I have to pack up and leave the house I once called and always in my heart consider home for the one my family now assigns that heartfelt moniker.
