There’s a time in each of our lives we look back upon often. We remember those times as the happiest of our lives. We reminisce about all the good times we had while vaguely recalling anything bad that may have happened.
The good ol’ days.
Those days for me are my freshman and sophomore years in high school. I had attended two different schools in 6th grade, and then again in 8th grade. Entering my freshman year of high school, I was determined not to make any friends because I knew we would just move again and I would lose them all. I became good at alienating people.
Halfway through my freshman year a new kid showed up in class. His name was Lee and we hit it off immediately. As a bonus, he lived with his grandparents about a mile away from our house which, out in the country, is practically right next door.
For the next year and a half life was great. Mostly. There were tiffs with my dad. Typical teenage rebelliousness, but I ended up making a lot of friends my sophomore year, when I first began to believe that maybe we wouldn’t move again. I fell in love for the first time my sophomore year. I learned how to drive. I liked my teachers – even the history teacher who scolded us because our “inbred” parents failed to pass a school levy. I skipped school for the first time ever. I had a shop teacher who was missing fingers.
We had an in-ground pool and a 3-acre yard. Many good times were had in the couple of years we lived in that house. Swimming day and night. Hide and seek in the dark. Playing baseball, football, soccer, or golf out in our huge yard. Running for my life when a farmer chased me off his land wielding a shotgun.
I’ve had many dreams take place in the house we lived in there, which leads me to believe my subconscious agrees that those years are the good ol’ days. Last year I counted all of the residences I’ve had throughout my life and I think I came up with 27. Out of those 27 that house is the only one which I dream about.
When I left that house a downward spiral of one hardship to the next began. I went from living in that house to a disheveled, cock-roach infested trailer. I had a step-father who paid the bills by stealing. I attended three more schools during my junior and senior years. Not long after high school I was emotionally blackmailed into a marriage I wanted no part of. Then I got divorced, remarried, and divorced again. It’s really no wonder why I look back at my first couple of years in high school as the good ol’ days. I had no responsibility. No worries. I had a shitload of friends, and, though I’d already had some tough times life hadn’t yet beaten all hope out of me.
Those days out in the country were the good ol’ days. Carefree and fun.
Post inspired by today’s Daily Prompt.