A Boy's Life

By Paul A. Royce

This book is a series of snapshots of my childhood experiences. They are the warm fuzzy moments that stand out sharply in my memory, impacted me deeply and sometimes molded the way I think and act today. Others are just moments that bring me pleasure when I recall them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365295218

Book preview

A Boy's Life

A Boy's Life

Tales of a Vermont Childhood

Paul A Royce

Copyright © 2015 Paul A. Royce

First Printing:  2015

ISBN  978-1-365-29521-8

Cover illustration by Allenna Royce

Cover design by Tammy Royce

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without prior written permission of the publisher. 

The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Published by Four Roses Publishing

PO Box 1731

Midland, Michigan 48641

www.fourrosespublishing.com

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who share these memories with me. Especially, my brother Bert, who stood by me, literally and in every other way throughout the time that comprised my childhood, adolescent and teen years. He was the constant that I knew I could rely on. Even when I didn’t treat him the way I should have, he stood true blue to the very end of our years together.

I dedicate this work also to my parents who made the sacrifices necessary to allow me a childhood so rich in memories.

It is also dedicated to those who love me the way I am today. These are especially, my wife Tammy and my children, Wesley, Amber, Heather, and Allenna.

Last, and far from least, I dedicate these memories to those yet to come, whom I know I will share my love.

Foreword

Memories are a funny thing. Some are crystal clear; others are more impressions, foggy, and indistinct. Two people experiencing the same event will have very different memories of that event.

This book is a series of snapshots of my childhood experiences. They are the warm fuzzy moments that stand out sharply in my memory, impacted me deeply and sometimes molded the way I think and act today. Others are just moments that bring me pleasure when I recall them.

I grew up in an era when kids were safe to be kids. We could walk the roads and hike the woods and never have concern for our wellbeing. We were free to enjoy ourselves in a very carefree manner. That was a blessing and is something that is tragically missing today. My world was 17 acres comprised of the two acres my parents owned, and the adjoining 15acre meadow. My universe was the 500 acres surrounding my world that I was released to explore at around the age of 11.

Barbra Streisand sings the song The Way We Were that poses the question, Can it be that it was all so simple then, or has time rewritten every line? Make no mistake; I know that it wasn’t so simple then. I exited my teen years a rather bitter person because of a series of circumstances over the preceding few years. For years those negative memories almost spoiled the blessings of the life I had experienced.

As I have matured I find that there are many wonderful things about growing up that I want to record for those who follow after.

Finally, these are MY memories. Those who shared these moments may remember them quite differently. To those people I can only say. . . Write your own book I would love to read it.

Walking to Kindergarten

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as the boy trudged along roadside. He kicked at a stone and watched it bounce off the road and into the ditch where it skipped and then splashed into the trickle of water that ran almost perpetually down the hill toward the small stream at the base. Turning back absently, he glanced back down the hill and then up at the house.  The large, brown, wood shingled farmhouse stood about a quarter mile away. Home! He knew his mother was watching him, and it helped alleviate any concern he was feeling. Not that he was that worried, he was five, and had done this plenty of times before.  He turned back and continued walking, on his way to kindergarten.

The boy loved kindergarten! Their neighbor, one of their family’s dearest friends, was the teacher. She had a class of 10 or twelve students from all over the town. Her method of using real life application to teach her lessons a1ssured the attention and retention of her students. The boy was learning colors and numbers. He now knew that if you looked at bright lights, the middle of your eyes would get real small, and in the dark, they got really big. He had learned that when you built a tower, the base had to be wide or the tower would fall over if it got too tall. His teacher loved birds and all things concerning nature and often incorporated them into the lessons. There was so much to learn, and he could hardly wait to get started today. He picked up his pace.

As he approached the end of the driveway he stopped and looked and listened in both directions to make sure there were no cars. The sound of a car reached his ears now, muffled as it traversed the road ahead of him. He could hear the engine stop laboring as the car crested the hill, and started the short level distance across the top of the mountain before it slowed slightly to make the corner and then start the decent down the hill he was walking up. The trees and the hill itself quieted the sound. Then, there it was, appearing around the bend. After the curve had been safely traversed the driver allowed gravity to speed the car up as it descended the hill. The sound was very familiar to him. He knew the car would slow again as it made the sharp turn at the bottom of the hill and then quickly accelerate to climb the short ascent immediately following the corner. It would culminate by sound of the car becoming muffled again as it disappeared down the steep hill on the other side. He had heard the same sequence again and again throughout his short life with every vehicle that came over the mountain. The only difference was, if they turned the corner and went up the hill past his parents’ house. Listening again he was satisfied that it was now safe to cross the road and he hurried over the rough grey asphalt, past the mailbox and onto the driveway.

The driveway was long, winding and covered with coarse crushed white marble that held a strong fascination to the boy. The temptation was always there to reach down and pick up a piece or two. He knew he was not the only one that had that problem because one of the biggest rules when the class went out to play was that the stones on the driveway had to stay on the driveway. He scuffed