Confessions of a Hunter

By Andy Anderson

When I was growing up, we rode bikes down the streets without helmets and elbow pads; heck, sometimes we didn’t even have shoes on. We built ramps out of scrap plywood and 2x4s; there were even some old rusty nails to be found. We drank water from a hose and sometimes from a house whose owner we did not know.

It was a time when you left the house at daylight and didn’t go back until the streetlights turned on. It also was a time when as kids we did things on a dare or just to see if we could do it.

The neighborhood kids would all gather at a nearby creek in a small area on the bank overlooking the creek that fed the Trinity River. We frequented this spot so much that we created a large dirt area free of grass that served as the head of a well-worn trail down to the creek.

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