A Walk Down “Dream Street”- For the “girl on the rocks” …… because we used to share some dreams

When we were students with a lifetime in front of us (hell, with living forever in front of us) we all had a fistful of dreams, some outrageously impossible, others just made up of handfuls of cloud dust. I was thinking recently that my old running mate Bill Badger, the great runner from our class, and I used to sit on the front steps at North Adamsville High a lot, mainly in summer, and go back and forth about our respective dreams for the future. I am interested in what happened to fellow classmates and their pursuit of their youthful dreams. Did things work out? I hope so. Tell us your stories. Mine is below  - A Walk Down “Dream Street.”:

A few years ago after having gone through a series of events the details of which need not detain us right now I was driven back to memories, hard, hard-bitten, hard-aching, hard-longing, mist of time, dream memories, of North Adamsville schoolboy days and thoughts of my old high school friend and running mate, Bill Badger, whom I spent many a night on the front steps at North Adamsville High with talking about our dreams.

Mostly, we spoke of dreams of the future: small, soft, fluttery, airless, flightless, high school kid-sized, working class-sized, North Adamsville-sized, non-world–beater-sized, no weight dreams really. No, that’s not right, they were weighty enough but only until 18 years old, or maybe 21, weighty. A future driven though, and driven hard, by the need to get out from under, to get away from, to put many miles between us and some crazy family life (the details of which need not detain us here either, as I now know, and I have some stories to prove it, that family condition was epidemic in the old town then, and probably still is).

We also spoke of getting out of one-horse, teen life-stealing, soul-cramping, dream-stealing, small or large dream take your pick, even breathe-stealing, North Adamsville. Of getting out into the far reaches, as far as desire and dough would carry, of the great wild, wanderlust, cosmic, American day and night road -hitch-hike if you have too, shoe leather-beating walking if you must but get out. Christ, even to Revere in a crunch, but mainly putting some miles between us and the old town.

Some of what Bill and I talked about as well at the time since we were your average teenage boys with teenage “that minute” dreams too was how we were going to do in the upcoming cross country and track seasons, girls, the desperate need to get away from the family trap, girls, no money in pockets for girls, cars, no money for cars, girls. Of course we dreamed of being world-class runners, as every runner does. Bill went on to have an outstanding high school career. I, on the other hand, was, giving myself much the best of it, a below average runner. So much for some dreams.

We occasionally spoke, as well, of other dreams then. I do not remember a lot of the content of Bill's, mainly learning a trade, maybe owning his own small business, something to put a little money in his pockets. The dreams of a lot of the have-nots in the world. Mine probably ran a parallel course. But along with those practical dreams I would drive him crazy with the dreams I had of social justice, of making this wicked old world just a little more peaceful and easy to live in. For working people, my people, his people, and probably yours too, to get a fair shake in the here and now. Those dreams, my friends, have, sad to say, not turned out as expected back then when it looked like we were riding on an upward curve of history. But enough from me. I want to hear about you. I will finish this sketch with a line from a Bob Dylan lyric. "I'll let you be in my dream, if I can be in your dream." Fair enough?