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by Kathy Kirk *
In the heat of summer, the bags got packed. Shirts & shorts, socks & shoes. Mom’s train case held the soap, shampoo, hairspray, Caladryl & other sundries. We got into the Pontiac Super Chief…white and aqua, bench seats, no AC, no seat belts. Before we backed out of the garage, someone stayed out to pull down the door. Then we drove out of the alley onto Steely Street and off we went.
After a mile or two, Mom and Dad lit the first cigarette of the trip. For some reason, that smell always triggered good memories. Not so much when the hot ashes flew back into my window and on to my arm.
An invisible line divided the back seat for my brother and me. Sometimes it mattered; sometimes it didn’t. We played the license game, trying to see how many states we could spot. We sang songs like "Grandfather’s Clock," and another one about a torn billboard. My brother often fell asleep, but I watched the road, occasionally just counting telephone poles. Living in the Midwest didn’t offer much else for scenery.
My folks knew where the clean out-houses were: one was even a "deluxe two-holer." Again…that was life in the Midwest…
Where did we go?
When you lived in Iowa, pretty much anywhere else.
[*Kathy Kirk is a Boyertown area resident. For many years she taught Biology at Boyertown Area Senior High. When not local, she can often be found visiting her family and skiing in Colorado.]