Some are going to be long and some short. This one is short.
Then there was the day I
disappeared. Remember this was Wisconsin, America’s Dairyland, in the 1950’s
and things like that just didn’t happen. We roamed the streets at all hours of
the day and night. A summer evening was spent playing “kick the can”. If you
don’t know this game, it’s like hide and seek except you get in free by running
into the middle of the street (no traffic problems in rural American in those
days) and kicking the big juice can before the person who was “it” tagged
The biggest crime that
occurred, in my entire nine years of life, was Johnny Meisner’s dad got robbed
and beat up in his driveway. The Meisner’s lived down the street about six
houses and around the corner. We didn’t have CNN or CNBC covering every
killing, mugging, or protest like we do now. In fact, television was so new
that we were one of the few in the neighborhood that had one. Big blond cabinet
with a picture about twelve inches in diameter, black and white of course.
As I recall it was a sunny
and I’m thinking it could have been on a weekend day. Dinner time came and went
and I never missed dinner. It was the rule. My parents wondered where I was.
They searched the house and then they combed the neighborhood, talked to the
neighbors; they talked to my friends, and contacted the police. Nobody could
find me anywhere. Darkness was closed in and still they couldn’t find me.
They were frantic.
When I woke up, I noticed
it was dark. My first thought was “boy I’m in trouble now”. I rolled out of the
hammock and stumbled up the basement stairs to find out what all the commotion
was about. I guess nobody bothered to look for me in the basement.