The SideRoad Kids - Book 3 E-Book

Sharon M. Kennedy

• Herausgeber: Modern History Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 266

Beschreibung

In this third and final installment of The SideRoad Kids, the boys and girls say goodbye to their childhood. As such, this book contains themes and imagery unsuitable for young audiences. Each of the nine stories is told by one adult character. Blew, Flint, and some of their friends joined the U.S. Army and served their country during the Viet Nam War. When they came home, they realized the war had changed them. They were men now. They had seen death up close and would never be the same. Some coped better than others. Some married, some started families, some divorced. Katie, the most independent of the bunch became a lost soul and spent time in the Peace Corps upon graduating from college. Shirley escaped the confinement of the small country town of Brimley, MI. The gravel road, so familiar to these individuals, was unaware of the turmoil surrounding it. Grass grew, birds sang, and the river kept its secrets.
"Once again, Kennedy whisks readers into the rural past of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Through beautiful prose and memorable characters, each evocative story, complete in itself, also links to the series as a whole. The author's deft artistry forges visceral and spiritual links that define community. The SideRoad Kids trilogy stands as a celebration of victories despite brokenness, love despite rejection, and forgiveness. These books deserve high praise and elevate Kennedy to a most honored place among Michigan writers."
--Sue Harrison, national best-selling author of The Midwife's Touch
"Over the years, I've read many of Sharon Kennedy's stories. She's an amazing writer who draws you into the lives of her characters and keeps everything relatable. Readers can easily recall similar experiences. She makes you laugh, makes you think, and makes you want to keep reading. The SideRoad Kids is an entertaining book about a group of children growing up in Northern Michigan."
--Kortny Hahn, Senior Staff Writer, Cheboygan Daily Tribune
From Modern History Press

Leseprobe

The SideRoad Kids—Book 3: Life as U.P. Adults

Copyright © 2024 by Sharon M. Kennedy. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 978-1-61599-828-9 paperback

ISBN 978-1-61599-829-6 hardcover

ISBN 978-1-61599-830-2 eBook

Published by

 

Modern History Press

www.ModernHistoryPress.com

Ann Arbor, MI 48105

[email protected]

Distributed by Ingram (USA/Canada), Bertram’s Books (UK/EU)

Dedication

With love to my precious daughter, Stephanie, and to the memory of my parents and my sister.

Also by Sharon M. Kennedy

Fiction

The SideRoad Kids – Book 1: Growing Up in the U.P.

The SideRoad Kids – Book 2: A Summer of Discovery

View from the SideRoad: A Collection of Upper Peninsula Stories

Non-Fiction

Life in a Tin Can: A Collection of Random Observations

The SideRoad Columnist: Observations from an Upper Michigan Author

Contents

An Introduction to TheSideRoad Kids Series

Fenders

Candy

Elizabeth

Johnny

Blew

Daisy

Flint

Katie

Shirley

About the Author

An Introduction to TheSideRoad Kids Series

Book 1, The SideRoad Kids: Growing up in the U.P., introduced a group of lighthearted farm kids. The stories followed them through the 1957-58 school year in the country town of Brimley, a small community in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Most of the action took place in the classroom or in their homes and revolved around their daily lessons and chores. Humor was an integral part of their lives.

Book 2, The SideRoad Kids: A Summer of Discovery, showed the kids beginning to mature and make discoveries that had the potential to change their lives. Readers watched Blew and Flint wrestle with major decisions. Katie and Johnny grew closer, although she wasn’t sure if it was Johnny or the bacon from his pigs she preferred. Fenders wrote home, told the kids about life in the Army, and forgave his mother for her strange behavior when he was a youngster. Elizabeth learned to love her stepbrother.

Although the kids were only twelve years old, the summer of 1958 changed them as they passed from childhood to the pre-teen years. They questioned the existence of God. They became aware of the lies adults told them, but not the reasons why. They did their chores, rode their bicycles, fished in the river, played nightly softball games, shared secrets, and grew closer in admiration for and understanding of each other.

Book 3, The SideRoad Kids: Life as U. P. Adults is inappropriate for children. The kids are now adults, and each story is told by one character so there is no question as to whom is doing the talking. Some of the boys served in the Army and died in Viet Nam. Others returned home, but the war had changed them. Society had also changed as reflected by the characters. Some married and divorced. Others graduated college and began careers. One joined the Peace Corps. The kids now had kids of their own. Katie, the most independent of the bunch, became a lost soul. Shirley, the most timid, finally escaped the confinement of the gravel road and made peace with her mother.

The first two books are appropriate for young readers regardless of where they live. Whether on a farm or an inner-city neighborhood, the feelings and emotions expressed by the children are universal. They reflect an honest look at life—its challenges, its mysteries, and its discoveries. The kids leave childhood behind in the third book and enter the confusing, contradictory, and often cruel world of adulthood. Their stories will connect with Baby Boomers who lived through the turmoil of seven wonderful, but amazingly bizarre, decades.

Fenders

I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and stepped off the train at the Sault Ste. Marie depot. The ride from Detroit had been a good one. The travelers on the Soo Line were strangers, but not for long. I was wearing my dress greens, and some passengers asked where I had been stationed. I was lucky. I didn’t serve in Viet Nam so nobody called me “baby killer” or any other awful name, and nobody wasted their spit on me to show their contempt. A few youngsters shook my hand. I wasn’t ashamed of the time I spent with Uncle Sam. I went from being a no-account country hick in the little burg of Brimley in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to an Army Supply Sargeant. Maybe no great accomplishment in the mind of a CO, but good enough for me. I thought I might become a lifer—a fellow who makes the military his career—but after a dozen years, I’d had enough. Some of the guys who enlisted at the same time I did left after their stint was up. Some spent so much time in the stockade, they were discharged with the same rank as when we finished Basic Training—PFC. It must have been Ma’s prayers that blessed me with patience and promotions and kept me out of the war zone or I’d never have lasted as long as I did.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming so no one met me. I didn’t mind. It was a beautiful morning. My duffle bag was heavy, but I was used to it. I walked to Ashmun Street. My first stop was the American Café. When Pete, the owner, saw me, he shook my hand and cooked me the best breakfast I’d eaten in a long time. I didn’t have to ask for a refill of coffee. My cup was never empty as the waitresses went from one booth to another with a hot pot in hand. People were talking and laughing and enjoying their meal. Everything seemed so normal, so different from the mess halls I was used to. Even the smell of bacon frying in what I envisioned was a cast iron skillet meant more to me than the aroma of Germany’s national food, sauerbraten, although it was a pretty close second.

It felt good to be home. As I ate, I heard the whistles of freighters going through the locks. I knew the shops on Portage would soon be opening their doors to tourists. The fudge shops would be busy making the sweet stuff I loved. I paid my bill and walked a few steps to the Karmelkorn Bakery. I couldn’t wait to taste their fried cinnamon rolls. Sometimes I even dreamed about them.

I sat at the counter and drank another cup of steaming coffee while I devoured the sweet roll. When I finished, I asked the clerk to put a dozen in a bag for Ma. Then I headed for the door. I was all set to hitchhike to the sideroad when Mr. Sims, one of our neighbors, almost knocked me down as he entered the bakery. I was about to yell at him and tell him to watch where he was going, but the Army had trained me well. No yelling at superiors was a rule I never broke. Sims took a good look at me and stuck out his hand.

“Fenders,” he said. “That you? Put it here, boy.” He clasped my outstretched hand and wouldn’t let go. Anybody looking at us would have thought we were long-lost pals.

“Hello, Mr. Sims,” I said. “Yes, it’s me. I just got off the 6:45 from Detroit.” He finally dropped my hand and pounded my back.

“Who met you?” he asked as he steered me to the counter. “Where’s your Pa?” He sat on one stool and motioned me to take the one beside him.

“Nobody met me. I didn’t tell the folks I was coming. Thought my orders might change at the last minute. You know how that goes.”

“I sure do. It’s been a few years since my Wildcat days, but once you work for Uncle Sam, you never take anything for granted. Orders change like the weather, but don’t just stand there. Sit down.”

“No, I’m ready to get home,” I said, but he waved his hand in dismissal.

“How you plan on gettin’ there?” he asked.

“Shank’s mare until I can hitch a ride,” I said.

“My truck’s right outside. Sit down while I drink my coffee and eat my cinnamon roll. Bet that’s what you came in for.”

“You got that right. I tasted them in my dreams.”

Sims laughed. “I been to see old man Roi on Sugar Island,” he said. “He ain’t doing so good. Got a pain somewhere Doc Finlanson can’t cure.” Sims swallowed the last of his coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he finished the roll, left a dime tip, and reached for his cap that was stuffed in his back pocket. “Ready?” he asked.

“You bet.” I hoisted my gear on my right shoulder and we walked out. “Sure is a pretty morning,” I said as we stepped into the sunshine. “I didn’t know how much I missed the sound of the freighters’ whistles and the call of the seagulls as they wait for whatever the sailors throw to them.”

“When you start plowing your dad’s fields, you’ll have ’em surrounding your head,” Sims said. “Nothing can compete with a freshly plowed field as far as seagulls are concerned. I think they’d rather follow a tractor and grab the worms than hang around the freighters and squawk for a free meal, but what do I know. Hop in.”

I threw my duffle bag in the bed of his truck and opened the passenger’s door. I set the Karmelkorn bag on the seat next to me and rolled down the window. We crossed the Ashmun Street bridge, headed straight up the hill, and on to south US-2. There was no traffic, but that was nothing new. There never was more than a few cars and a tractor on the road at any given time. Sure made a change from the streets of Berlin. They were like Detroit or any other major city. I breathed in the fresh air.

“You know there’s been a lot of changes since you left,” Sims said. “Some good, some downright awful. I suppose your Ma wrote and told you Johnny Eel hung himself. Poor devil did it right after he graduated high school. Went through the ceremony and shook hands with everyone. I was sitting next to his pa and he was telling me that Johnny was gonna be a pig farmer just like him. When I heard a truck roar down my lane at midnight, I knew it meant bad news. Eel thought Johnny was spending the night with Blew or one of the other boys, but he wasn’t. He was swingin’ from the haymow rafters. I helped Eel cut him down. I never saw a man so broken. Not even my Wildcat buddies when the shells were flyin’ in the war.” Sims stopped talking and turned on the radio. I kept my mouth shut and looked out the window.

Ma had written a long letter and told me every detail about Johnny’s death. For months I couldn’t get the sight out of my head. I couldn’t believe he’d taken his own life, not when young boys like him were being killed in Viet Nam. Country boys just like Johnny who’d never held a rifle in their hands unless it was during hunting season. Even then some of the fellows didn’t like killing a deer. I met guys so poor they’d eat anything a .22 could bring down, but said they’d never shoot an animal for sport. Ma said Johnny looked real nice in his cap and gown. She said Katie’s mother had thrown a party and all the kids were invited. She said Johnny was sad because Katie was planning on leaving the sideroad in the fall and heading down to Michigan State University in East Lansing about a four-hour drive from home. Johnny was cut up about that, but Katie wanted to be an English teacher. Ma said she promised Johnny she’d come home for Christmas and every summer. He’d been sweet on her since they were little kids.

The way Ma told it was that after the party Johnny hung around instead of going home like everyone else. It was getting dark, but he had something on his mind. Katie and Johnny were on the front porch when Johnny took a ring from his pocket and asked Katie to wear it. He told her he loved her, always had and always would. According to Ma, Katie kissed his cheek and promised she’d treasure it forever, but she wouldn’t promise to marry him. She said a lot could happen in four years. She might want to live in a city instead of returning home after she graduated college. She said Johnny might find another gal he liked better. She said a whole lot of other things and the more she talked, the lower Johnny’s head sunk. Ma said he did everything to stop the tears from coming but come they did.

Katie’s mother heard his wails and went to see what was going on. Johnny was on one knee begging Katie to wear the ring until he could afford a real diamond. Ma said Mrs. Clark bit back her own tears at the mournful sounds Johnny was making. She said she knew Katie loved Johnny in her own way, but she also knew Katie was much too young to think about marriage. Viet Nam loomed like a curse over all the boys. Although only Blew and Russell had received their draft notices, Katie knew there was a fair chance Johnny’s number would soon come up. Ma said Mrs. Clark wanted Katie to give Johnny hope, not false hope, but more hope than she had given him. Then when his draft notice came, he would know Katie loved him and would wait for him if he didn’t return home in a body bag. Mrs. Clark told Ma all this at the funeral parlor where Johnny lie in his coffin.

“Gonna be a scorcher today,” Sims said. “July’s been a hot month. Fires in Canada have made the sky hazy for two weeks now. This weather ain’t normal for us. I remember the days when summer in the U.P. meant 70-degree weather from June through September. Something’s going on in the heavens that ain’t natural. You were lucky to be sent to Germany. How’d the Krauts treat you?”

“Not bad. I spent more time on Post than traveling. Went to Berlin a few times and to Dachau. Saw some concentration camps. They were awful.” Sims nodded his head.

“What’re your plans now?” he asked.

“Not sure. If Pa wants me to stick around, I’ll help him with the farm. Ma said he’s down to milking only six cows and doesn’t keep beef cattle. No pigs either, just a few chickens.”

Sims grunted, “You’ll find most of the farmers got rid of their milk cows. Unless they put a fortune into new barns and equipment, no dairy was allowed to take their milk. That fellow on Six Mile went big time. He’s got to be hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. Heard he almost got gored by his bull. If it hadn’t been for the hay wagon in the field, he’d of been a goner.”

“Ma mentioned that in one of her letters. One good thing about having a mother who loves to gossip is she kept me up on all the local news. Even told me about Bell’s Brown Swiss cow that was killed by a car on this road.”

“News gets around fast when your Ma’s telling it. She should of been a newspaper reporter. Course, she tends to embellish a story, but you can’t blame her. Her newscasts are more interesting than the paper, and a dang site better than anything on TV.” Sims chuckled.

We were by Pine Grove Cemetery and turned right onto the Old Brimley Road. Sims said they don’t call it that anymore. They call it Six Mile Road. A few years ago he said they tried to straighten the stretch heading into Brimley, but the county couldn’t take out all the curves so it still had plenty of turns although not as sharp as before. It’s paved now, too, he said. I looked out the window. “If they dig graves any closer to the pavement, one of these days we’ll be driving over the dead,” I said. “I never noticed how close they are to the road.” I didn’t want to hear more about Johnny or any of the kids for that matter. Ma had kept me well-posted, and most of her news wasn’t good.

“Only last month I was talkin’ to Brown, the gravedigger, and told him the same thing,” Sims said. “Brown said the owners plan on buying a couple acres to the west. There’s plenty of room behind these plots. As for me, I got my final resting place next to my son on Riverside.”

“I didn’t know you were married,” I said. “Ma never mentioned anything about you having a wife or a son. I thought you were always a bachelor.” I was glad the conversation had taken a different turn. Sims put both hands on the steering wheel and began telling his story. I leaned my head against the window I had rolled down an inch and felt the chill of the morning breeze blow through my hair.

“We wed as soon as I got the call from Uncle Sam. I didn’t want Margie marryin’ while I was gone, and if I died on the battlefield, I knew she’d get a little money from the government. We had a couple weeks together as man and wife. Them was the happiest days of my life. When she wrote and told me she was with child, I was the proudest man on Post. Imagine, me a dad, I kept telling myself. When I got her letter, I knew I’d make it home alive. After basic at Fort Sill in Oklahoma, they shipped us to the Philippines. I didn’t see much action there. We were on our way to Japan when we got word the war was over. You should of heard the hootin’ and hollerin’ coming from the boys. It was too late for the poor devils who were already gone, but for those of us on that ship the news was pure heaven.

“A few months later, I was home. Like you, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. When I walked down the lane and saw Margie sitting on the porch and the little tyke playing with a kitten, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I dropped everything and ran like a madman. I swooped Margie and my son into my arms and didn’t let go until Margie said I was squeezing the air out of her. What a homecoming that was. We laughed and cried and laughed some more until the sun left the sky. It was only then I ran back for my gear. When she put Stevie in his crib, the kitten crawled in with him. I started to protest, but Margie silenced me, saying they always slept together. Then I carried her to our bed.”

Sims stopped talking. I could sense he was no longer in the truck but had left to join his memories. He drove for another mile before he broke the silence. “Margie wasn’t what people called a beauty. She was tall and stout and her hands were almost as strong as mine, but she was the only woman I ever wanted. We were a good team. We never quarreled. She used to say that when a man and his wife loved each other there was nothing to quarrel about. We didn’t even have what folks called spats. We knew what we wanted, and we worked to get it. When Stevie died from peritonitis we liked to have died with him. Poor little chap. He was only four. He’d been complain’ of an ache in his tummy. We thought it was gas and would pass. By the time we got him to the hospital, it was too late. His appendix had burst. There was nothing Doc could do. That was when the light went out of our lives. Margie stopped eating. I started drinking. We stopped working on the house we were building and returned to the old shack that was our first home. We never spoke of Stevie. Three years later to the day, Margie walked into the river. We never found her. Everyone said she’d been washed out to Lake Superior, but I didn’t agree. I thought she had sunk like a stone and was layin’ at the bottom of that river, but I guess we’ll never know.” Sims sneezed. “Darn hay fever,” he said. “Gets me every year around hayin’ time.”

I didn’t say anything. What does one man say to another when he shares such a story? I knew Sims understood, and I was finally beginning to understand a lot of things. I always thought he was just an ornery old bachelor, but now I knew different. I also knew why he was so broken up when I shot his cat years ago during hunting season. He didn’t get mad at me. He just picked up Old Tom and carried him to a shed and said he’d put him in a box and bury him in the spring which is what he did. I know because I helped him.

We passed a dozen small farms and were almost to the sideroad when Sims hit something. He pulled over to see what it was. He switched off the ignition and we got out of the truck. I hoped it wasn’t a cat or dog, and it wasn’t. What he’d run over was a good-for-nothing porcupine. I hated those rodents. More times than once our dogs had come home with quills in their nose and some in their eyes. When I was six, Pa had to shoot Rowdy, my best pal. That dog followed me everywhere. Sims reached for a shovel in the truck’s bed and wedged it underneath the porkie. Then he threw it in the ditch and we got back in. “No harm done,” he said. “Sure am glad it wasn’t a kid’s pet. Let’s get you home.”

We drove another mile, passed the trestle, and were going by the Wyman farm. My little sister, Daisy, always loved their pink house. Every time Pa drove by, she begged him to slow down so she could study every inch of it. The Wymans were friends with Ma and Pa. One day Pa pulled into their driveway and Daisy was beside herself. She was so excited she could hardly speak when we were invited in. To me, it was just a nice house, but to Daisy it was a pink palace. Funny, how a color can have such a strong impact on a child. I wonder if she’s still crazy about pink. When I left for the service, her bedroom looked like a ball of cotton candy.

“They paved Piche Road,” Sims said. “Sure is nice driving on something other than gravel. I doubt our road will ever get paved. Too many curves, and the hills are killers. We need a new bridge, but I suppose it’ll be years before the county wakes up and puts in a two-laner. The current one’s a death trap. Gotta be close to a hundred years old. It can’t take the weight of anything heavier than four tons, and people play chicken when they’re coming down the hills. Many a time I’ve pulled over to let some young buck have the right-of-way. I’m in no hurry to meet my doom.”

“In one of her letters, Ma mentioned Blew crashed his car into the side of the bridge early one morning when he was coming home after closing the Belvedere in the Soo. She said he wasn’t hurt, but he sure sobered up in a hurry. Ma said he walked home and left the car where it hit the railing. At first light, his grandpa got his tractor going and pulled the car onto the road. Blew drove it home. I can imagine the tongue-lashing the old man gave him. He’s gone now, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, Sullivan died shortly after that. His heart gave out. Left his farm to Blew who never got a chance to run it. Like I said. Lots of changes on the sideroad. You heard what happened to Blew, right?”

“Sure did. Say, where’d that store come from? There wasn’t a grocery store here the last time I was home on furlough.” I was anxious to change the subject. I didn’t want to talk about Blew so when I saw a sign that said “A&B Meat Market,” I was glad.

“Abe and Beatrice turned their garage into a market,” Sims said. “Opened it a few years ago, and it’s a real gold mine. Everybody stops there especially for the meat. It’s all local beef and pork. Smartest thing Abe ever did was marry Beatrice. She’s got a good head for business. Want to run in and say a quick hello? Weren’t you sweet on their daughter?”

I laughed. “That was a long time ago. By now Delores is probably married with six kids. I doubt she’d even recognize me.” I was glad the market had taken Sims’ mind off Blew.

“Don’t be too sure,” he said. “She’s still single from what I hear. She might be waitin’ for you.” Sims started to turn into the market’s driveway, but I told him if it was all the same, I’d rather get on home. “You’re the boss,” he said. “But if I was you, I’d start courtin’ Delores soon. You’d fall heir to a nice little business if you’ve a mind to be a grocer instead of a farmer.”

“You might be right about that,” I agreed. “I never was much for farm work. After being an Army supply clerk, I got used to working inside. Maybe I’ll give her a call and tell her I’m home. Test the waters before I get too excited about wearing a white hat and slicing bacon all day.” We laughed. Sims wasn’t the same man I knew when I was growing up or maybe that was because I’d finally done some growing up myself and wasn’t as quick to judge people as I once was.

“Wait ’till you see the river,” he said. “Even in this heat, it’s higher than it’s been in years. We had a hard winter. Broke all records. Snow never stopped fallin’ from mid-October right through April. Lots of roofs collapsed, and you should of seen the snow banks. Five feet high if not higher.”

We were still on Six Mile near the Burtt place right across from our road. Sims turned left, and my heart beat faster. I was a mile from home. “You can stop here,” I said. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Sims. I appreciated it and enjoyed your company, but I think I’ll walk the rest of the way and surprise Ma like you surprised your Mrs. Here, take a couple of these cinnamon rolls. That’s my payment for the free ride.” I opened the bag, but Sims hesitated. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ve got a baker’s dozen and you know that means thirteen. You’ll have a treat to eat with your next cup of coffee. After I get things settled and make the rounds of the relatives, I’ll come by your house and lend a hand with whatever you need. Probably won’t be until next week.”

“That’ll be fine,” he said. “Thank you, Fenders. I always knew you were a good boy, and I wasn’t wrong. You’ve grown into a fine young man, and I’m proud to shake your hand.” He extended his to me. His grip was strong.

“See you soon,” I said. I lifted my duffle bag and slipped my arms through the straps. Might as well let my back carry the weight instead of my shoulder. I took my time as I surveyed all that was familiar. Outwardly nothing had changed except the weeds in the ditches had grown taller. I walked a ways and when I got to the bottom of the hill, I stopped on the bridge and watched mist rise from the river. Everything was peaceful. It was past nine now, three hours later than the best time to enjoy a summer morning, but the scene was beautiful all the same. The water was calm. The surface barely made a ripple when I tossed a pebble in. A robin flew above my head and landed on the iron railing beside me. In all my years, I’d never seen one so close. I took it as a sign welcoming me home.

I saw sandhill cranes in the open field to my left and wondered if they were the same ones that returned every year since I was a teenager. There were always two of them, male and female. Like some old married couple, they stayed together until death parted them. I left my post and walked up the hill. Odell’s house was just before ours. The boys never finished their treehouse. I met Sam when I was on furlough before being transferred to Ulm in southern Germany. He seemed like a nice enough guy, especially when he apologized for his mother kicking me out of the house after hearing where I was being shipped. I wondered if she was still terrified of Nazis coming for her. Ma wrote that she had spent some time at the mental hospital in Newberry and seems to be doing much better. I hope so. It’s a terrible thing to live in the present and be haunted by the past. Took me a long time to understand that.

As I walked on, I heard a horse whinny. Elizabeth was trotting Sunflower towards me. Both girl and horse had beautiful strawberry blonde hair that looked all the more lovely as the sun hit it. Elizabeth was a flirt. She threw me a kiss and asked me to stop and tell her all about the Army, but I just waved and walked on. I was about to turn in our driveway when I heard the roar of a hotrod tearing down the hill and aiming straight at me. When he saw me, the driver slammed on the brakes. I was surprised there were any.

“Fenders, is that you?” Squeaky yelled. He and Flint jumped out of the jalopy. “You’ve put on some weight,” he said. “You look like a real soldier instead of a bean pole. Put it here, Pal.” He shook my hand and pounded my arm. He’d added extra pounds to his short frame, too, but other than more padding around his middle, he looked the same except for a thin layer of hair underneath his nose that I guess he called a mustache. Flint had grown at least another foot and had filled out across his shoulders. His blond hair was as long as a rock star’s. He grabbed my hand and pumped it.

“Man, you look good,” he said. “Did you bring home a pretty Fraulein? Where is she? Did you bring one for me? Did you know I made it out of Nam with nothing more than piece of shrapnel in my left leg? Did you know I left a piece of my little finger in the Mekong Delta? Are you home for good this time?” Flint peppered me with questions.

“All in good time, Flint. I’ll answer all your questions in good time, but now I’m going to walk into Ma’s kitchen and surprise her. She’s not expecting me.” We shook hands again and the boys got back in their rattletrap. Squeaky blasted the horn. They waved and were gone in a cloud of dust. Ma must have heard the commotion because the screen door opened, and she stood on the porch. “Ma,” I yelled. “It’s me.” She looked like she was going to faint. “It’s really me, Ma. I’m home for good.” I ran towards her, jumped on the porch, and hugged her like there was no tomorrow. Unlike the poor lads who would never see another one, I knew plenty of tomorrows lay ahead for me.