The last post of my A to Z Challenge 2017 series on my early childhood had me Zooming off to Endwell with my parents and younger brothers to my second childhood home.
This series picks up my story of Arriving in Endwell, N.Y. and moving into the tiny house where I would live with my family through the end of high school.
A Baby Boom bonanza
My first childhood home Whispering Chimneys was an 1850s farmhouse near Albany, N.Y., where I lived with my parents, maternal grandparents and younger brothers until I was seven.
I had friends at school, but the nearest neighbor children were Kathy and Carol Ann — who lived across Route 20, a highway I was forbidden to cross without an adult. So I was used to a certain amount of solitude.
Our new Malverne Road neighborhood, however, was the polar opposite. It was a dead end street with no through traffic, which meant we were free to cross or even play in the road. Even more amazing, there were dozens of children — a Baby Boom bonanza that took some getting used to!
My moving day injury
I made an early trip to Endwell with my dad so he could do some indoor painting to get our new home ready. We slept on Army cots in the empty, echoey house — and I met some of my future playmates when showed up in the front yard to look me over.
After that came moving day, when the whole family — my grandparents included — drove along behind our moving van on the three-hour trip to our new house.
One of the first things the movers unloaded was my vintage bicycle from the farm — and I hopped on to give it a whirl on the dirt-and-tar covered street (pavement and curbs were still in the future).
I’m not sure if it was the excitement of moving or the stickiness of the tar, but next thing I knew I was head over heels on the ground with a gash on my right forearm — made by my bike’s gripless silver handlebars. Ouch!
Luckily, the movers never missed a beat. They set down the furniture, rummaged in their huge truck, brought out a first-aid kit — and before you know it, I was all patched up and back on my bike.
I was also left with a lasting memento of that fateful day. Even today all I have to do is look down at the small, faded scar on my forearm to fondly remember Arriving in Endwell as if it was yesterday!
Up next: B is for Brothers and Boondogle. Please stop back!
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