I cried myself to sleep many times when we first moved to the city because we had been living on a farm where my dad was a hired hand, and I loved that place. I missed the barn cats and my dog Cookie, who had to be shot before we moved because she had a huge tumor on her belly (and we had no place for a dog in the apartment). So yes, I cried.
But there were things I learned to love about our new home.
Up under the bridge were signs that hobos had been there, perhaps taking refuge from the elements: whisky bottles, sardine cans and such were scattered about.
Surely my mom didn't know I was wandering up there alone!
Because of our close proximity to the airport, our TV signal often went haywire as planes flew over our house; when they were taking off or landing, the noise was horrendous.
While we were in North Kansas City, I asked Cliff to take me to the spot where I went to school when we first moved to the city. I was halfway through the sixth grade when I was enrolled in McElroy Dagg school, which at that time was a grade school. Later on it became part of the high school.
That seems strange now, doesn't it? Some traditions are best left behind.
Cliff and I saw several faces of color when we drove past the school.
I realize these ramblings are probably of little interest to my readers, but sometimes I need to turn back the years and remember other times, simply for my own benefit.