Doesn't every kid have a secret hiding spot that he can go to when things get too intense, or you just need some peace & quiet to think? Mine was in the back house that stood over the entance to the cellar where my ma canned fruits & veggies. It was cool in the summer and a haven from the cold in the winter. I could rant and rave while pacing or lie back with hands under my head, gazing through the openings in the shifting bricks. My pilfered pinup magazines were well hidden too. At least my mother would never find them. "God in Heaven!" Grandma would not be climbing up there for sure. She did not like me anyway. "You are just like the Moses's, stubborn as an ox!" she said. She married my grandpa MOses. Was this MY fault?
I practiced my debate speeches while walking back and forth. Debating, me? That is a laugh. I hated to argue. It gave me brownie points with the principal and besides I had a big crush on Mrs. Fox, the girl's economics teacher.
The attic was another place I liked. The smell of old books and musty clothes and ancient dust permeated the air. It was a storage smorgasbord of broken furniture, old blankets and clothes, dusty books - things past use awaiting for further need. A box full of letters held my interest for hours. I don't know who the people in them were. WheN i couldn't read very well, I'd recognize some words and make up the rest. The stories were much more exciting that way. When I could read it seemed I didn't care much about the stories any longer.
On a hot summer day what a better place to get away than under the rows of corn. It was fun to lie in a fallow shaded by the stalks and look up at the sky. It was something better shared.
An old weeping willow was where I'd go when I was sad. Every little boy and girl needs solitary moments. No one knew I went there because there was nothing else nearby, so I was safe to think and dream.