Growing up in a world that still guarded itself with innocence. Troubles were just starting to bleed over own television sets. While most of our time was spent outside riding our bikes playing cops and robbers. Our uncle’s and big brothers went to war leaving their hot rods covered up with tarps, waiting for the day they’d come home. Sometimes when our parents weren’t around we’d go pull off the tarp and pretend we were driving the hot rods they left behind.
But for an unlucky few the cover never came off. One neighbor eventually sold their son’s '65 Ford Falcon 500. While down the street another neighbor kept their son’s yellow '65 Impala Coup parked next to the driveway where he left it for decades. A sort of silent tribute to a pain they never spoke about. Today most of us just seem to be angry. Mad at the time we lost and the many we lost along the way. I don’t know, sometimes I just want to turn the whole thing off. But thinking back to the “good old days “, there was just as much pain and suffering back then as we feel now. Maybe it’s just time to scream and release the pain. To accept the suffering and move on.