Good Old Days Magazine

More Pedaling, Less Pondering

It was May 1940, close to the end of my third-grade school year in Davenport, Iowa. I was looking forward to the end of those afterschool “boring sessions” with my teacher. She was nice, but Miss Spellman didn’t smile very much.

While pedaling to school on that infamous morning, yours truly made a decision that turned that sunny day into a chain of disasters. Consequently, my bright, sunny day turned to gloom, my comfort to discomfort, and everything finally went from glorified to mortified.

I woke up to a radiant blue sky and a happy sun beaming into my bedroom. As I flung the blanket off and hit the floor, my

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