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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I remember it well, and it's such a joy to tell of the fun we had playing with toy cars and trucks in the sand box. It was both thrilling and challenging as I played my roles in the school's stage plays. Each day after lunch, we were treated with overwhelming play times during school recesses. The most dreadful sound was that of the bell calling us back to classes, and during those cold winters, the pot-belly heaters always kept us warm. We took for granted the security of knowing that we were loved and protected. Poindexter, Gaston, White, Sexton, were early child-hood teachers that taught me the three R's, good manners, and even how to sew. We made great use of the few toys our parents could afford and wasted no times feeling sorry for ourselves. We played driving tractors and cars with worn out rubber tires, and when our cap pistols were worn out, we simply used sticks. When our BB guns wore out, we made our own sling shots and bow and arrows. We had no swimming pools, private or public, but we jumped into the nearest creek never mindful of mud or pollution. No real play grounds with merry-go-rounds, sliding boards, and swing sets. We played ball next to railroad tracks as well in cow pastures and never missed touching every base in spite of the many cow pies. Not to be forgotten are some of the men in my little farming community who were friends of my father. Mon, Tanny, Sam, Jeff, Pete, Dude, Bains, and so many more who helped in the formation of my character. All their names began with 'Mr.' 1128 2018PoSoupContest, My Youth, Craig Cornish
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