It's Funny How Small Things Bring Back Memories

It’s funny how odd little things can trigger memories of things past. We were sitting in a park yesterday, enjoying the sunshine, and you could hear the traffic off in the distance on 283. There were also occasional gunshots at the nearby shooting range. Both of these things, along with being outside, really had me thinking about growing up, going to Hazleton with my dad or my grandparents to go to the mountains. In the evenings at the campfire, especially, or during the day when the wind was calm, you’d hear the steady sounds of traffic. It was especially trucks on I-81, which is elevated above the valley.

Being an outdoor club meant you could hear gunshots at any time, and you would be able to listen to them randomly and pretty steadily, late summer into deer season, as people were practicing. I did my share of shooting, too, obviously, with other people making sure it was safe (no one was out beyond the target or that sort of thing) because of my vision. That was my happy place growing up. My vision didn’t matter when I was there. I was no different from anyone else.