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Patrick A Granfors

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  A kid in 1965 - Belle's Challenge
by Patrick A Granfors
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent poems by Patrick A Granfors
•  Somebody Blinked
•  Drink About It
•  Bend
•  Dominos
•  Standard Issue
           >> View all 528

I was there.


1965

When I was a kid things were different

Junior high was five miles away

You could ride the school bus

But it took an hour

So I rode my bike when it was nice

And sometimes when it wasn’t

My friend Marty and I had leather book bags

And it wasn’t really cool

Pocket protectors for leaky pens

Not an issue, personal choice

Geeks, when there was no such thing

(OK denial )

 

I helped Grampa bale hay every summer

He paid us a penny a bale

Slave wages

Captive audience

Bee stings, iced tea

And the chance to drive the tractor!

Home grown popcorn cooked in an iron skillet

Riding, standing up in the back of the pickup

Hanging over the cab, wind, blasting our faces 

Laughing and howling

Headed for the lake after bales were put up in the barn

Splashing in the brown water

Diving off the raft

Wading in the muddy shallows

Picking off the blood suckers between the toes

 

Bonanza and Walt on Sunday nights

Grandma’s Home made bread topped with

Grampa’s fresh churned unpasteurized “stinky butter”

We hated it then

Probably would love it now

Doctors would cringe

What do they know?

 

 

More years available on demand.

 

Copyright 2010 Patrick Granfors

 

 

 

 

 

 




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Reviewed by Christine Tsen 8/6/2010
This is fantastic!
I love the nostalgic edge to poems like this, and you have given us a feast here.

Hey, you said more years available on demand...
What's the ickiest gooiest stuff you've got tucked away in there, even more graphic than stinky butter... ?
Blessings,
Christine
Reviewed by Karen Palumbo 8/5/2010
Seems you sure led an interesting life. I still make my own bread, ice cream, pasta, tomato sauce all from scratch and sometimes churn my own butter when I have the time. Lots of work in my little garden too six months of the year...

Be always safe,
Karen
Reviewed by Susan Bergeron 8/5/2010
Made me go back to my grandparents farm, same timeframe...love that stinky butter...love the memories...Sue
Reviewed by Ed Matlack 8/5/2010
Did you try toe jam on your bread with your stinky butter...? Fun and informative write, how did I know you were a geek way back when there weren't any...LOL, Ed
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 8/5/2010
Reads, sounds great, like my own. Like Huckleberry Finn, one of my early book ideas, Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tales [not a sweet children's book--they'll have to sneak to read], lies waiting on the To Do list when I'm old of those riotous times we had free from soccer moms and diligent dads.

Why you and I love the wilderness today.

Ron
Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader) 8/5/2010
in 1965 i was begging my parents not to have sex, as i was born into this toilet bowl world in 1966. but this is really great writing patrick. maybe 1965 was the last good year on earth and it all went to hell the day i landed??
Reviewed by Eileen Granfors 8/5/2010
I love this poem. Whether you grew up in Michigan or California or the Ozarks, childhood and the teen years were once a smoother road, stinky butter and all.
Reviewed by David Maclellan 8/5/2010
It makes me realise that kids in the 60s in America were doing things not much different to the kids in Australia. They were great times, thank you for sharing them Patrick.
Kids of the 60s unite and write!
Best regards,
David

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