Wednesday, December 7, 2011
It's true confession Wednesday. It seemed that a rite of each summer would be that week of racing our homemade buggies, (like soapbox derby racers, but without all the rules), down college hill. We spent the week building our new models in our garage, complete with wheels taken off an old baby carriage we found in the neighborhood dump. Now, there was always the debate: build it light to go fast, or build it heavy, so with the momentum of the long hill, it would really be rolling by the time it reached the bottom. One year, we were short on wood and B- and S- said the old dilapidated building next to their house had some perfect pieces for our latest model. They went on to say their neighbor worked during the day, and we might 'borrow' a few boards. Needless to say (we were 12), the deed was done. It turned into the perfect buggie that won countless races down that hill that summer. A few years later in religion class, I discovered I had something called scruples, and I ventured back to that summer morning rummaging around in that building for wood. I guess I was a bad boy.