Memories are for sharing
Dim memories of Terry and me, four or five years old, climbing into the neighbor’s car from the passenger side, seeing a parking brake between the seats. Realizing that our mother was chiding us: “you two get out of that car” or words to such effect. A 1940’s automobile of sturdy steel, perhaps a running board for a toddler’s knee. A nice springy upholstered place to crawl upon. These recollections are my latest discovery of hoarded thoughts of 1951 glimpsed from 2015.
The running of the dogs and running with the dogs past the firehouse up Renshaw toward US 27. I don’t remember getting to the top of the street, but do recall that the dogs were very enthusiastic, eager to have us on this merry adventure: tongues and tails a wagging in doggy-dog harmony. Shoulder-to-shoulder with a dog pack of seven or eight doglets.
I’m crawling in the back yard of a tiny house in Highland Heights 41076 with a goal in sight: a tin doll house open on one side inviting me to get in by pulling the wall of that tin house up, then feeling safe and cozy in that perfect shell, looking out at the grass and at our Renshaw house. It was a bright and sunny day, suddenly a shot did not ring out. Maybe bees were buzzing.
A rare circa 1952 photograph from Tom. Posed but still candid. Tom in haute style in red nosh gosh b’gosh unlederhosen that complement Terry’s 50’s look. Paul sharing same subject of attention with his brother (they are both looking to their left as you may have perceived). Terry in writer’s mode with mid-twentieth-century text in hand and inspiring gaze, wearing intriguingly complementary colors to contrast with b’gosh. Is that a 10,000 mile stare on Billy? He is the author of these very words but that guy doesn’t remember what he was thinking when the camera clicked in 1952. Bill Jr. shares that long-sleeved plaid style also favored by Paul who, as earlier reported, is looking at the same interesting stuff as Tom.
The other two (2): Über first cousins Larry and Hal, discussed under separate cover perhaps. Or commented upon by the reader of these very words in the space provided by WordPress for comments.
315glenroy 
I don’t remember what I was thinking either, bro. And thanks for the story about climbing into the car. Mom caught us on that adventure–but she didn’t catch us on all of them. Sometimes that was a good thing. Sometimes not.
LikeLiked by 2 people