Dragging Main

Dragging Main was "the thing" to do when I was growing up.  Sometime in the last (ahem) years it apparently went out of style.  I don't know why, I was too busy trying to make a living to notice.  I do know it wasn't something my kids did, but we were living elsewhere by then.

In a small town there isn't much to do that appeals to the majority of the teenage crowd -- or, at least that was the case many years ago.  I suppose today there are video games that fill the time.  When I was growing up though, a newly minted drivers license meant any and every excuse to spend time behind the wheel was important.  It even had me running errands for my mother -- like going to the grocery store.  Sometimes I took the long way.

I never was particularly "social" back then and that probably holds true today, so dragging Main wasn't a big deal to me.  I would rather spend my time hunting, or reading, or in some other solitary pursuit.  Besides, my parents weren't particularly open to my wasting fuel running up and down the street, or sitting on a tailgate on The Square and hanging out with others who might be a "bad influence" on me.

There were times though, when I participated.  It was always interesting to see who was riding with who and who was "missing" and possibly parked somewhere....

Those were the days of muscle cars.  There were quite a few of them in my hometown.  Most had glass packs for mufflers and the low "rrrmm rrrmm rrrmm" of the horsepower rolling through town echoed off the buildings.  Occasionally a couple of them would pull up beside each other at the single stoplight in town and the squeal of tires and echoes of high performance engines could be heard when the light turned green.  The local constabulary frowned upon such behavior, so most of the contests were conducted on some more remote stretch of highway such as the Cemetery Road.

I guess what led me down this chain of thought this morning is that it is now June.  That means summer which includes July 4th.  Fireworks come with the celebration of our Independence and I definitely recall bottle rocket wars conducted out of car windows and on the Square.  It's a wonder we survived.

Anyone care to share a few memories?

A Wooly Rodeo

Years ago, when just a kid,
There were some crazy things I did
That kids today will never have the chance.

Like going to feed my first show calf
On the edge of town, about a block and a half
At Smitty's house because he had some pens.

We lived on the edge of town
And twice each day I would walk down
Or, ride my bike to take care of that calf.

Smitty kept some sheep there
And succumbing to a friendly dare
We one day had a mini rodeo.

Riding on those wooly sheep
Upon whose back we'd quickly leap
Until we ended in a dusty pile.

Now, Smitty was the sheriff
And we had not asked him if
We could ride those sheep he kept there in that pen.

He happened to arrive at home
With lights flashing on the dome
Of the sheriff's car in which he drove.

It seems someone had seen us
And called him just to discuss
What we were doing to his wooly herd.

We thought we might just go to jail
Or, maybe that our hides he'd nail
To the side of one of his old rusty barns.

While we stood and waited
For the judgement we were fated
My mother showed up 'cause she had been called.

To say she wasn't happy
Was as understated as could be
And she said, "Just wait until your father gets home."

I think you know the rest
Of how a leather belt will test;
I don't think I could sit for 'bout a week.