Childhood Monuments
Image courtesy of artur84/ FreeDigitalPhotos.net Kids clustered as close to the digging equipment as the workers would allow. The red clay churned and our third base shifted in the ground. Exclamations of surprise echoed from the crowd of children as the huge white rock at the edge of our front yard succombed to progress. "Whoa!" "Wow. Look how big it is." The new neighbors wanted natural gas, and the line where the pipes would be laid crossed third base, our white rock. When the neighborhood parents broke the news to us, every child protested. Third base was a fixture. First base was the bush at the corner of the house, second base the water meter cover. The white rock, embedded in the earth for all time, stood solid as third base. How many times had I stood on it, excitement in my veins? Home lay just ahead. One more hit, and I would score. Even when we weren't playing baseball, it gave us joy. I loved to ride my bic...
