Recently I was driving home from work and I heard a country song by Brooks and Dunn called “That Red Dirt Road”. Or, at least I think that is what the name of the song is. It’s about a road in someone’s coming up where life is learned.
I had a road like that. I lived on this little island, separate from the main thoroughfare of the little town that I grew up in. The Island boasted like… I dunno 200 houses maybe. It was a circular island, with a road that circled. The houses on the inside, were … well… on the inside. The houses on the outside of the road were those on the water. Those were the coveted houses. My mom and dad bought a house on the inside of the road back in 1968 for $28,000. In 1980 they sold it for $78,000. That seemed like such a coup back then.
Okay, enough about that.
Just over the 20 foot bridge that connected my island to the main road was a road up to the main road. 46th Avenue. Parallel to 46th Avenue was a gravel/dirt road that ran next to the seawall. If you walked up that gravel road, it took you to the shopping center. People walked their dogs on the gravel road, therefore it became known among us kids as Dog Shit Alley. As kids we thought we were so bad calling it that. In hushed voices we would say that bad word. You know. The “S” one.
The things I remember on that gravel road.
I wiped out on my single speed bike. Scraped my thigh up pretty bad. But hey. I was a trooper. I never complained, and I didn’t even cry!
Once when I was coming home from middle school, I was walking down D.S. Alley with my books in my arms. A man stopped his car on 46th Avenue and tried to call me over. There was probably a good 50 feet distance between his road and my gravel road. He wanted directions. I told him to go up to the gas station at the end of the street if he wanted directions. Back then, we didn’t have the training for people trying to abduct kids like we do today. But, something told me he was not a good man.
He drove away. I thought as I walked down D.S. alley that if he made a turn and started after me, I’d just jump over the seawall. What was he going to do with that?
My mom and dad got me this little poodle when I was around twelve years old. I named him Jean. He was … neurotic. Besides being a poodle, he suffered from epilepsy. Interbreeding so I’m told. I used to put him in the basket of my bike and ride all over the place. Up D.S. alley we went, up to the shopping center. He loved to ride. He was a great dog, except for the fact that he was never quite potty trained. I remember riding in circles one day and he puked over the side of the basket.
I digress.
The first time I ever felt a male’s wanker was on D.S. alley. I grew up with this guy. He was in my dad’s Boy Scout troop. We were like… I dunno… thirteen years old, and we were sitting underneath these huge Australian Pine. He asked me to touch him. I did. Through his shorts. He had a hard on. It was well… weird.
Sheesh, I was thirteen years old. Of course it was weird!
Later, after I met my soon to be husband, we made love in his old Rambler on D.S. alley. I was sixteen.
Here is the funny thing about this. I moved away from the island in 1980. Time has gone by. I don’t live too far away, so I visit the old neighborhood from time to time. The houses aren’t worth $78,000 anymore. They are worth like upwards into the millions. The alley has been sold and development with stilt houses that would knock your socks off.
It makes me sad when I drive by. The old gravel road, which provided so many memories, is gone. My only satisfaction is in knowing that these million dollar houses are built on what we kids used to call Dog Shit Alley.
There are no comments.