My parents’ home sits at the end of a long dusty road. This dirt road stems off of a two-mile long county dirt road. This county road splits cotton fields, tobacco fields, and pecan orchards. I grew up in the country.

To get to school, my brother and I would walk out to the county road and stand by our mailbox. By about 7:15am, the bus would come get us. We were sometimes the first on. When it would rain, or in the rare case of a cold blustery morning, my dad would drive us out in the shelter of his pickup until the bus came. I liked to stand out and wait. I could hear cars humming by on the highway just a few miles away. I always wondered how in the world the sound of those cars could travel so clearly through the still morning air.

The road to our house had a sharp turn in it, so we couldn’t see home from the road – which meant our parents couldn’t see us. Granted, at the time I didn’t think anything of it. We grew up riding bikes and go-carts and ATVs all OVER those dirt roads. Most mornings, we just stood and waited – stood about 50 yards from where they found that dead man a few years ago. But, that was just a few years ago. What I’m remembering was a few decades ago.

Maybe times have changed. Maybe my childhood world was as safe as I remember it being. Maybe I’m coloring this memory based on a present day reality. Our mornings were calm, carefree, and quiet. We just stood out there with our backpacks and our dog and sometimes our cat. And peacefully waited for the school bus.

I didn’t think about this memory until last week, driving home from the gym. And I realized how dangerous that would be now. Do you have any childhood memories that are jarring from today’s perspective.