In March of 1950, my best friend, Mary, and I thought we could get around her paretns and set in motion a plot quite by accident.
It all started innocently enough. After school at 3:30, we ere planning to walk down town to buy Keds for gym class. Around noon the sky started to look threatening with a change of snow. At three it started to snow moderately. We decided stupidly to follow through with our quest for shoes. By the time we made it to town, the roads were getting a bit slippery. When we were finished with our purchases and came out to the bus stop, things had turned to a very hard snow. Ah, that's when we started plotting. Mary lived out in the country about six to eight blocks from the bus stop, across a field, and over a hill. However, my house was three blocks from the bus line. Her parents never allowed her to sleep over. We rationalized we had them this time. She would walk with me home. The snow was now at least three to four inched, and the buses could hardly make it to my stop.
We giggled, threw snow, and fairly skipped and slid down the hill, confident that we finally were going to win. Dad arrived safely with the news that he had hardly made it home. He loved to snow drive. That kind of sealed the plot. Mark a win for our side.
Not so. Mary called her parents. They wouldn't hear of it. They roused the grandfather and talked to Dad, insisting he meet them halfway. Dad agreed. He was always up to a challenge. It took them forever, but they beat us at our own game. It made Mary and I sick because school was closed the next day.