Clarksville, Tennessee
Nostalgic moments are weirdly unpredictable. Yesterday, I remembered my first train ride. One minute I was having a conversation and the next I was in the mid 1960's, I was 9, and my Cub Scout Den was taking a field trip to a small town in Kentucky to see one of the banks robbed by the infamous Jesse James.
The train car smelled of musty wood. The seating consisted of old park benches, bolted to the floor. In the back of the car was a pot bellied stove. Nine-year-old butts are squirmy, especially with the prospect of banks and bandits looming up the tracks. Maybe Jesse dropped a bullet. I was determined to find one. My Mom was seated beside me, keeping me seated beside her with that 'look' that only Mom's possess.
Nostalgia is a strange pond. Some days it seems larger, better than you remembered. Other days you feel there should be a 'No Fishing' sign. Funny thing about my first train ride- I don't remember the arrival, only the ride.
Nostalgia is a strange pond. Some days it seems larger, better than you remembered. Other days you feel there should be a 'No Fishing' sign. Funny thing about my first train ride- I don't remember the arrival, only the ride.
A nostalgic moment, a video from one of my former students-
99.9 °F from Harrison Keller on Vimeo.
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