Small towns are super places to grow up. Most people who do not get that experience don't understand how a person can go through their adolescent life knowing everybody, and everybody knowing them. But it is an unusually rewarding experience.

I was looking at Facebook today and one of my friends from Hoopeston had put up pictures of the Class of 1969's reunion. What a group. As I looked through those pictures, I recalled what I remember to be those people. Sometimes it was hard to see them, other times, they had never aged, or had come to look like their parents. All the memories from forty years ago flooded back. And the years faded away. I was transported back to when I was sixteen and living on Penn Street in Hoopeston, IL.

My best friend growing up was Bill Gholson. His family accepted me as one of theirs and his sisters became mine. Gloria, Sheila, Nora and Brenda all were my family, and Bill's mom and dad were also mine. They treated me like it. We laughed together, and when I needed it, I was scolded.

That is the beauty of life in the small town back in the 50s-70s. Kids had respect for their elders, even if the older generation was not related. Beaver Cleaver and Wally actually lived down my street and the Brady Bunch were real neighbors. The police were respected and they understood problems of living in the small town, because they grew up there. My parents knew what I did before I got in the house.

The song goes, "Yesterday is dead and gone..." but I do have to say that I find myself longing for those simpler times. I miss Penn Street, the Gholson girls and my good buddy Bill. And John, Steve, Alan, Roger, Delmar, Ellen, Billie Sue, Linda, Debbie, Juanita, and all the rest of the Cornjerker clan.

When did the fast lane overtake me?

Doughnut