Do you remember Band Festival Day in Bristol. Those tubas and trumpets strutting their stuff down West State Street, our ears dancing to the beat of drums that knew something real good and it was telling us about it. Lord, how we loved those marching bands. What were they trying to tell us? That we were good and we loved God. And there was nothing that was better than Bristol showing off a little, tooting its own horn, showing its appreciation for that beautiful message. We hoped to live up to it. If we could only make ourselves feel as good as that trombone and saxophone felt. The blue sky whistling like it was feeling real good. And even the wind knew we were important. Look at us. Waving and cheering folks we don't know. But they come this light from their eyes that showed us the way.
Growing up in Bristol, we frequented the few drive-ins around to watch the various films. As a child before the movie started, it was a fun time to climb on the swings and hang from the bars like a bat. The drive-in speaker had to be attached to the car, hung from the window. A neat trick. The actors didn't seemed annoyed by the inconvenience of being hung on the side of cars. Here, we discovered popcorn, soda, ice cream and candy, not that we didn't know each snack in a previous life.
Then we discovered love. Smooching, spooning, sparking, if you get my antiquated vernacular. Our lips it seemed were destined to touch more than popcorn. First kisses had that quality that bestowed greatness. Ensuring our place in the world. Once we hugged and whispered sweet nothings to each other, and the lights all went out all over Bristol. Scary. I can safely say my dates were sweet and resurrected my soul from teenage doldrums.
Those lovely summer nights burst open and we all climbed in. Rolling over the hills and valleys. Happy as pigs on a hayride.