I grew up on a little gravel road off Winkleman rd, in Brady, Washington. Beaver Lane. Same house since 1972. The address has changed a few times, but the place hasn’t. Back then there were cow fields behind us, big trees on the hill, and enough wind in the spring to fly my homemade bird kites until they vanished into the woods. We rode bikes, motorcycles, even a horse or two up and down that road and out into the logging tracks. That was my world.
The neighborhood filled in around us over the years. When I was a kid, it was folks like Dick McKee and “Larry and Linda” and a lot of open ground between houses. Dick was the first one to move onto this street, and he stayed here until he died in 2019. Now there’s Zane and his wife and 2 kids and Rod and Debbie next door with their dog Hank on the other side, and Lisa across the way, Mark lives kitty‑corner on Rose Lane, and a bunch of newer places pushed into what used to be pasture. Evergreen Lane runs way back with a couple of dozen homes on it. People cut down the big trees on the hill for building, and now the train horns down on the flats come right up the slope instead of getting muffled. The funny thing is, with all that change, ours is the only house still in the hands of the original family.
The day that really split my life was August 22, 1976. A Motorcycle wreck. Me and two freinds. That date is burned into my head and always will be. I missed a good chunk of the first quarter of school after that, laid up and then trying to catch up. Algebra never really landed after that. I guess I’ll never know how life would’ve gone without the wreck, but the truth is, I can’t picture it any other way. Life just moved on. I only ever lived the version of my life where that crash already happened.
What did make sense to me was metal shop. I ended up in there in 8th grade, early, in a class that was supposed to be for high school kids. I always had an A. Give me steel, a welder, and a tape, and I was fine. One year I built a whole bicycle frame from scratch. When it was done, I tried to haul it home on the bus and the driver said, “No.” So I marched up to the office and the principal and vice principal loaded me and that bare frame into the driver’s ed car and drove me home. Paper math gave me fits, but I can still lay out a perfect corner with the 3‑4‑5 trick and a tape measure. That kind of algebra sticks.
School wasn’t just shop. There were some good antics too. In 8th grade English, our regular teacher, Mrs. Arthur, was out, and we had a substitute. He walked some kid down to the office, and while he was gone my buddy crawled inside the hollow teacher’s podium and hid. When the sub came back and started talking, the podium began to wander around the front of the room. The whole class lost it. It was hilarious. My friend took a hack for that, and the teacher decided I was in on it too. I said, “No way.” Down to the principal’s office we went, and they were ready to give me two hacks. I made them call my mom. She told them, “If he said he didn’t do it, he didn’t do it.” That was it. Back to class. Yeah, I stood up when I was right.
My folks shaped a lot of who I am. My dad did good. Retired Navy, retired DNR. After he was done working, he told me once, “I make more money than I can spend, and I buy what I want.” He and Mom were comfortable. They grew old in this same house on Beaver Lane. As the years went on, mowing the yard, tending the garden, painting the place—it all got too hard for them. That’s when I stepped in. I was here for them, until the end. The same hands that built bicycle frames and read tapes for construction kept their house standing tall when they couldn’t anymore.
Mom and Dad left me this place, and that means a lot. I plan to live here till my last day. My daughter Melissa, far as I know, plans on staying too. So the house my parents bought, the one I grew up in riding bikes and flying kites and sneaking off to watch construction crews while I was “grounded,” is the same house that will go to my kids. Dad was right—he did good. They left me this house, and I’m going to give it to mine. I appreciate that. A lot.
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