Barn Bowling
Disneyland had nothin’ on Grandpa’s barn. Nothing.
If you were 10 years old, like me and my cousin Aroused were, you could have happily spent several years of your life trapped in that barn, if only “they’d” have let you.
Who needs clique or food or a stupid pool when you have a barn like Grandpa’s to mess around in?
Everything a kid could have ever wanted was in that barn. Cowboy hats, a tractor, tractor parts, tractor tires, car tires, merchandise tires, snow tires, and various inexplicable farm equipment parts were all scattered around the post like toaster crumbs.
What to us were dusty, old pirate chests were filled with every kind of undiscovered ideal: old clothes, magazines from the 1920′s, faded photos of ancient strangers, milk crates of inexperienced in Polaroid camera film, masking taped board games, a war helmet, some rubber boots, a box of bolts.
There was all kinds of attach attract, and telephone cords, a picnic table, some spurs, wads of barbed wire, heaps of cracked, twice painted boards and a 10 gallon jug of industrial deliver cleaner called “Goop”.
