During the week we might tube all the way to Dripping Springs and never see another soul. We generally didn't float past that point because the current was pretty slow on down to the dam area. We would spend quite some time climbing up on the big rock at Dripping Springs and then performing different dives each time we dove back in the water. I never could do a good cannonball. I think it was due to the fact I was skinny as a rail at that time. A forward dive preceded by a Tarzan yell was the best I had to offer. The diving competition in our gang was pretty limited as I recall. Crowds made the family trips to the river pretty scarce on the weekends. Family outings for wiener or marshmallow roasting and watermelon eating were made during the week. My mom usually had a truckload of kids as we headed down the dusty river roads for some afternoon swimming. On the return trip we always made sure our towels were wet to provide a cool place to sit on that steel truck bed. There was no tailgate on our old truck so everyone wanted to sit on the very end with their feet hanging down. By the time we had traveled those dirt roads going home we needed a bath even after swimming all day. As small kids it wasn't unheard of to share bath water or bath towels. I'll bet a suggestion like that would bring looks of horror to faces of modern kids. Tough times call for tough measures as most of the oldtimers can attest. Laundry day was once a week so clothes were worn more than one time before they hit the clothes hamper. Sharing and conserving were a big part of our young lives. At times I feel I have become so distanced from my young Growing Up In Bandera life that I begin to feel some guilt. Even with the hardships I endured as a kid I can't help but think my efforts as an adult to provide more for my family have somehow denied them an experience unlike anything words can describe. Is that the answer to what's missing in our world today? #177 2019
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