Dale’s personal memoir is filled with reflections of goodness, innocence, and all too often misguided play. This book will make you smile, laugh, rejoice, and bring you to tears.
Excerpt
October in Minnesota can be fickle. In 1949, it was warm and not yet ready to yield to the first hard freeze. My birthday was renowned for beautiful weather. This one marked my seventh year, and would stick in my mind for the rest of my life. The party has long been forgotten; the gift, the giver and the place, however remain.
We stood on the flagstones laid in freshly worked earth not yet seeded, but destined to become a sea of green that will meet the stone edges. Five of us squirmed and fiddled as my father hunkered, where the walk met the road and prepared for the launch. A gaggle of boys doing what boys do best, poking and prodding, dodging this way and that to avoid the retaliatory strike.
“You boys ready? Here we go.”
Dad rose from his crouched position and took a few hurried steps. Amid a hiss and muted scream, the rocket jetted upward. Up, up it went into the azure autumn sky. At the very pinnacle, when it remained stationary for what seemed like minutes, the miracle happened. A small parachute popped out of the nose, filled with air, and the rocket drifted down.
As much as the ascension impressed, my mind sees the blue sky behind the gift. The blue that ended abruptly when cut off by the crimson and gold adorning the October trees opposite the road.
It drifted; swinging on tethering strings from the cloud above, and disappeared behind the hedge marking our property. With a gleeful ‘yip,’ amid much shouting and confusion we charged, each of us intent on being the first to the prize.
From your excerpt, it appears that your memory is quite sharp of the details like the weather. I am the same age but I don't remember those kinds of details except that we moved to the big city of Wausau, Wisconsin and a few other milestones that year.
Your father must've been visionary to be building rockets in 1947. I do recall having to sit in the car with the engine running and the wipers on to watch the fireworks on the fourth of July at my uncle's farm in a rainstorm about that year. My uncle's parents owned a hardware store in the local town and had the fireworks. Otherwise, we only watched them in city celebrations. We didn't get into making rockets until 1956. My dad frowned on our making rockets, especially when one blew up in my hand.
My Tales of our misspent youth are currently being posted, a chapter at a time, right here on AD.
Good luck with your book. I think your family will love reading it.
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