A story from my child hood

First just a little about me.

My name is Harold Voss. I am 43 years old.
I was raised in Prague, Arkansas, which is eight miles east of Sheridan Arkansas. Sheridan is a small logging community in central Arkansas, one of those small towns where everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows everything about everyone.

Growing up I had a hand full of friends, some I still consider friends, some have passed away, some just moved away to never be heard from again.

The person who was, and still is one of my best friends, name is, Andy Welch.

Andy, when we where in school, was looked upon by the other students as a nerd, he was very book smart, did Band, R.O.T.C. and just a little eccentric. How we became friends, I don’t remember. We where just always friends, fishing buddies, drinking buddies, hell we even stole and smoked a few cigarettes together.

Summer in the country was always fun, HOT and Humid, but fun. We would do things like take a bunch of junked bikes, build one or two from this pile of junk, then paint them with what ever spray paint we had available, or could be stolen from our Fathers.

We then would get all the kids from the community together on a Saturday, and all of us would head out for Suicide Hill.

Suicide Hill was just a place on an old Ammonia Gas line, that ran through the woods a few miles from my home. It was from the top, strait down, and about, 250 ft, from top to bottom, and at the bottom, there was a huge mud hole, that was around 100 ft long and as wide as two cars.
We would drag things there like old broken down ridding lawn mowers, go-carts, Bikes without peddles, ply wood, and bricks.
All of us kids would build a ramp at the bottom of Suicide Hill, kind of at the base of the mud hole, then we would all head to the top of Suicide Hill. This is when the fun started.
It was like a truth or dare kinda game, and at some point one of us kids would ether get tired of hearing all the B.S. or someone would just get brave, but someone would line up there Bike, go-cart, or broken down lawn mower, and take off down Suicide Hill, hitting the ramp at some speed that should have killed all of us, then land or crash in this huge mud hole.

It was so cool, because as soon as someone went first and lived, it was like the gate was opened up. Kids where flying down the hill getting covered in mud, and generally having a great time. Things that kids now days would never dream of.

I think about those days when I am at the Mall with my current Girl Friend, and her daughter, on Saturday’s watching all the kids trying to look like some rapper, or Gangster. Man kids today are so lost.

I think the best time any of us kids back then was, one weekend, Andy, myself, my little Brother, (Russell), Andy’s little Brother, (Robert), had all built some new bikes and decided to head for Suicide Hill, to test them out.
It was sweltering hot, steamy, when we all got to the Hill.
Andy had taken a ten speed bike, with the old 26″ wheels and put a 20″ wheel on the front, and some handle bars from an old dirt bike on it. It looked mean. So after the ramp was erected, and Andy got tired of all the prodding, he lined his “new” bike up, took off down the Hill, and hit the ramp.
Life kind of went into slow motion at that point.
As soon as Andy’s bike cleared the ramp, the front wheel came off, then the handle bars came out.
The only thought that went through my head was, “Dad is going to kill me.”.

Now Back in those days, all of us kids just kind of took off and did what ever we wanted as long as your chores where done, everyone watched out for each other, rarely did we ever get into much trouble as a group.

Now pour Andy is flying through the air, with a look of terror on his face, screaming like a little girl, cringed up for his inevitable death, or serious bodily harm, which was only a few mili seconds away, then he landed with a huge splash, mud and dirty stagnant water going every where. Remember, this all seemed to be in slow motion. I was at the bottom of the hill and about half way through the mud hole, in order to critique Andy’s jump with his new bike.
Andy hit and after everything settled down, I ran as best I could through the mud to what I knew was his dead body, and all I could think of was how my Dad was going to kill me over this.
Anyway, I got to Andy, surprised he was still breathing, and alive. He stood up checked his self out to find out to all our amazement he didn’t have a scratch on him. I was relieved, another day I got to live, because no one died. After everyone calmed down, we started looking for the front wheel to Andy’s bike. We never found it, ever.

What makes me think about those wonderful days when I was a dumb ass kid, is either watching the news or shortly after the evening news. We see the same stories every day, some child out playing and doing what kids do, then someone snatches a child.

Maybe its because we all grew up in the country, maybe its because we all ran in groups of 4 to 10 kids, maybe it was the child molesters were scarred what our Fathers would do to them if they messed with us, I don’t know, but we never, asked if we could just run off, we just all met up and did what we did, and at the end of the day we all went home, safe and sound. Maybe it was just a point in history, where child molesters stayed in towns and large cities.

I love the old memories, its great to sit back and nurse a cold beer and remember, when life was so simple, I hate watching the news and seeing the story of an abducted child, and why anyone would harm one.

Next week, I will post another story from my childhood. I hope a few folks like this story, and can understand why I wrote it.

Hold your kids, love them every day, never go to bed mad at them. Remember, Kids are just kids.