That October when Dad drove Mom and me to the hills of Kentucky, his birthplace, I carried my sack of glass marbles in my pocket.
Hey, I was the champion marbles shooter in Hamlin Grammar School fourth grade. As soon as we got near dirt I intended to practice.
I joined my younger cousins. Climbed over Grandfather’s fence. Attended class in their two-room schoolhouse. Read from McGuffey’s Reader.
At recess we went outside. Cousins dropped their sand-stone marbles, rounded in the Licking River nearby, on the dirt. I opened my sack of glass marbles.
Envy. Then greed. Cousins’ eyes enlarged.
You ever play ‘Keeps’ ?
I lied. “How do you do that?”
When the bell rang and we went inside the school, I owned all of their sand-stone marbles. Showed my winnings to Dad.
Son, you give all of their marbles back. And give them all of your marbles.
Still remember the ride back to Texas with an empty pants pocket.
Photo by Ivan Calamonte at Shutterstock
