The nearly two miles to Brada School seemed like a heck of a long walk when I started there in the fall of 1929.

I was scarcely six years old, and although there were older siblings for encouragement, it meant many steps for short legs.

My sister Bee, nine years my senior, kindly came to my rescue, with the gift of her pony, which she had outgrown. He may have been old and slow, but how proud I felt mounted on my steed, while siblings, and most other students, made their way on foot.

One afternoon going home from school, I was not hesitant to brag to my brother Frank, older by three years, about our different positions in life, his being the lowly serf afoot, while I proudly rode ahead on my great charger, like the knights of old.

I had neglected to take into account the ingenuity of my prankster brother until my mount, no more the old docile pony, became the spirited steed of historic past, charging away with a great clatter from behind and me hanging on for dear life.

Frank had tied his empty five pound lard (lunch) pail into the tail hairs of my mount.

*Published in The Senior Paper May 2017