When I was a kid in the late 1950's, I had gone over to a nearby neighbor boy to play one afternoon. His name was Dave Anderson and he lived a couple of miles away on the Jasper-Marshall county road northeast from our farm.
Dave and I played a lot together as we were one year apart and his grandparents also lived just across the road from us. I really enjoyed doing things with Dave as he was very creative and had a talent in making cool things like spears, tomahawks, and bow and arrows. Like I said really cool stuff for boys. And, what was really important we never had very many disagreements.
On this particular day, I decided to ride an old Schwinn bike that was on their farm. One problem was it had only one handle bar and no brakes. I didn't let that stop me. As soon I got on the way I went.
One slight problem though. I immediately lost control and started down a rather steep embankment off their driveway. There weren't too many options open to me. To my left as I descended was an old Case hay baler and to my right was a pile of busted up concrete and straight on was a barb-wire fence. A quick decision had to be made. After a bounce or two off the concrete, I rolled into the barb-wire fence.
To this day I carry that battle scar on my upper left arm. No, I didn't have stitches and simply lived to see another day. Just part of being a kid I guess!
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