My Own Private Idaho

Tomorrow I'm making the 425 mile trek to Boise to be with my family through the weekend. I'm pitching the kid in the back and he and I are hitting I-84 early for our 7.5 hour journey. It outta be more than interesting considering the he hasn't crapped or pee-peed anywhere except our backyard in six weeks. But, hey, what's the worst thing that can happen? And speaking of Boise .......

When we were growing up, there was only one television station -- CBS is all we had. And two or three telephone prefixes -- 342, 343, 344.....we had the last one. We rarely ate out, that being for those who were rich and famous. But occasionally we'd do Friday nights at Grizzly Bear Pizza on Fairview Avenue or the Red Steer Drive-In for Finger Steaks (I didn't know they were an Idaho tradition until I realized that you can't find them most other places in the world....and now, of course, I wouldn't eat them anyway). My father worked in a grocery store and brought home all of the food he could that was going to be thrown away....you know, the stuff just past code date that couldn't be sold any longer. Man, we didn't have much, but we sure had each other. We were one happy group, I must say. We went camping nearly every weekend in the summer. We stopped in front of Gem Furniture store on Broadway Avenue each Christmas to watch their moving display of Santa and the reindeer. We'd eat lots of frozen fish sticks and lime green jello complete with whatever leftover vegetables my mom could find to put into it. And McDonald's? Nope. I never ate there until I was with a friend and his family in grade school. Thought I was really something. And as for "ethnic food," we had none that I knew of. I remember there was one Mexican food restaurant on State Street that we'd drive by. And I remember thinking "What in the world is Mexican food and what kind of people are in that place eating it?" Today, I can't live without it. But one of the wildest things we'd do was to pass back and forth along River Street going across town to grandma's house. River Street was lined with small, modest homes painted mostly with white paint and lined with cracked sidewalks. Oh, and there was one small church there too. But the thing that set the area apart was the fact that nearly all of Boise's African-American population lived along this short three, four, maybe five, block stretch of road. Now, we weren't prejudice folk. My parents would never have put up with that. But, for some reason, we craned our heads to look out the windows of our 1967 blue Chevy station wagon when we passed along River Street. Looking first one way, and then the other. Can't you just see all three of us kids in the back of the car -- wild-eyed with wonderment. I never remember any bad words, poor thoughts, or negative sentiment attached to this area of town. And, what do you know...one day, my parents made the announcement that on the upcoming Sunday morning, we were going to go to that church. Just to see what was going on there. So, we did. All five of our pale white little faces perched amongst a sea of black. I remember it to this day. With such fond and good memories.

So, back to Boise this weekend. Minimal blogging or emailing. But hopefully some decent family time with sister. I haven't seen her since the date of her sentencing back in early December. Remember us, would you. And you .... you're always on my mind.