Growing up in Florida in the 50s and 60s had its' good points. Nobody needed food stamps in those days to survive. All the neighborhood kids were free to raid the orange groves. Nearly everyone living in the country had a garden. Helping ourselves to a 'prize winning watermelon' was second best to the oranges. I recall running down sandy roads in 95 degree weather. It didn't take long to work up a thrist. We had a cousin who owned a small business. After dark, the tallest member of the gang would remove a few jalousie windows. Everyone would climb in and help themselves to a Nehi. Our cousin was good natured about the theft. The next day he'd find one of us and laugh. "This morning, I was missing a few cold drinks." In the mid 50s only half the families owned a TV set, and of course, there were no video games. Using our imagination, we knew how to entertain ourselves. Besides radio and a good book, out door activities included endless games of hop scotch, played with a shard of broken glass or sea shells. After a hard rain the near by ditches were always full. Barefoot and a pair of shorts, everyone dived in, thrashing and laughing, often unaware that we weren't alone. Water moccasins were viewing our activities between blades of high grass. Sometimes it became necessary to grab a stick and shoo them off. Undaunted, we swam on. There were three neighborhood outlaws that I recall with a certain fondness. The term 'dysfunctional' family wasn't coined in those days, but I'm sure you get my drift.

Eddie: He was an abused, towheaded step child, who was always in love with my sister. If ever a criminal mind existed, his was. He could pick any lock around. One day he was showing off for her on his bicycle. He hit the curb, flipped, and landed in a neighbors rose garden. In his late teens, he moved back to North Carolina, got involved in shady activities (moonshine, I think.) Eventually he was found slumped over the steering wheel of his car, dead from a shot gun wound.

 Reuben: His activities were more violent. He loved to play cowboy- in earnest. Once he snuck up behind an elderly man and nearly knocked the old boy out with a cap pistol. As an adult he was scentenced to prison for a violent crime. He died while incarcerated.

Herbert: Probably the most tragic. He had learning disabilities. Taunted by the other children because he was in Special Education, he played hooky often. His mother was an uneducated Georgia woman, who didn't use a lot of psychology in raising her children. At her 'wits end' she called the truant officer. They decided it best to put Herbert in reform school. Released, he was marked for life. No good family associated with him. He tried marriage, fathered one child and divorced. Traumatized, he became an alcoholic. One night drunk, he drove off a bridge. Local folks til today wonder if it was suicide. Like the repentent thief who died alongside Jesus, these boys may have had good hearts. Well, at least two of them did anyway; only God knows. Of course all this happened a long time ago, but when we're growing old, memories keep us entertained.