Those of you that read this irregular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile of so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River. It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.
I never write about living people except with their express permission, but since the topic is me, I hereby give myself permission to tell this story. I am guessing that it happened either in 1961 or 1962, when I when I was either four or five years old. I know that it was before I started school.
We lived in North Little Rock in 1962, because my father got transferred. Interestingly, we lived across the street and three houses up from the Fischer Honey plant, quite a thing, but a topic for another time.