What was your favorite comic strip? Garfield and Peanuts were popular with me. One special memory is the one called the Family Circle. It often featured the youngest energetic boy of the family running all over the house or yard by tracing his steps with a dotted line. My snowbird Grandma Smith would clip these features from her newspaper in Arizona, and mail to my mom with a note that said, “This reminds me of Todd!” One of my favorites was Dennis the Menace as I thought it to be somewhat biographical. A caricature of me at the age of Dennis would bear a striking resemblance. Coupled with my hyperactive antics, and we come close to a match.
My first look in the newspaper is no longer the comic section. Not even on Sunday when they are printed in color versus black and white. I scan the headlines of the main section, only fully reading the articles that interest me. I do not scour the sports section like I did in my youth. Baseball box scores are no longer printed, leaving me to find the desired details elsewhere. The winter months draw me to the crossword puzzle with a sharpened pencil in hand, but not so much in outdoor weather time. I will never reach the level of confident completion of said puzzles by pen, as my Dad consistently did.
My ‘home sick from school’ reward was usually a couple of comic books from Johnson’s Drug Store. My favorite was Archie and Jughead. Guess who I thought I was? Yep, you are right…Jughead. I was always hungry and skinny as a rail. Just like Jughead, I consumed superhuman amounts of food and hardly gained a pound. The only dissimilarity was that I did not wear the crown-like hat that never left Jughead’s head. My mom was always dependable to drive uptown to fetch me at least one of those classic comic books to help me pass the time on the couch. I do recall one specific time when for a long-forgotten reason, our family car would not start. She dutifully and lovingly walked out back to where the grain truck from the farm was parked by the granaries. She cranked it up in an effort to fulfill my wish. It was only a minute or so drive to main street, but she did not want to leave me home alone in my sickly condition. She lifted me up into the truck to ride along with her, for a bumpy ride sans functional seatbelts. I remember her pulling and tugging on the steering wheel as it did not have a power steering feature.
If I was Dennis, who was Mr. Wilson? Would it be Mr. Jensen and his chickens? Or maybe it was Mr. Johnson, another across-the-street neighbor? As I grew into adulthood and returned to the home located catty corner from him, it became acceptable to call him by his first name: Elmer. Neither of these fine gentlemen was grumpy or grouchy towards me like Mr. Wilson was with Dennis. However, Elmer deserved to dislike me due to the fact that I indeed did damage his freshly poured cement back porch steps with my lack of coordinated bike riding skills. We shared a laugh about that incident many times while visiting on my front porch. For the record, I truly miss these two men’s presence in my neighborhood.
I will sheepishly confess to stepping out into the roadway, with a shovel in my hand and arms waving. This was done in an ill-thought-out, unnecessarily aggressive effort to slow down an eager male teenage driver who was repeatedly squealing his tires around my corner. No doubt he was trying to get the attention of a young lass living in the neighborhood. To my relief, it was effective, as I have not seen him or his jalopy on my smoothly paved city street since. Thankfully, I have not yet hollered, “Stop riding your bike on my grass!” or “Who’s that in my driveway?!” (an ode to my brother’s minor speaking role in the Preston movie, Napoleon Dynamite), to any child or adult visitor to my home. I pray I never do. My favorite evening sight remains to be the families with children riding or walking through the neighborhood.
I am possibly now the grumpy, occasionally curmudgeon-like, almost Medicare-eligible man who takes note of annoyances in my neighborhood. Barking dogs with their deposits on my lawn, zipping cars, increased traffic flow, or yards being watered when it is raining, catch my attention. Perhaps I am the “Mr. Wilson” of 4th West Street in Preston, Idaho. Dennis remains inside of me but to a lesser extent. Let’s all admit it, life would be boring and mundane without a “Dennis,” “Jughead,” or “Mr. Wilson” around!
Todd Thomas was born and raised in Preston. He’s currently serving his fourth term on the Preston City Council and works full time as a physical therapist. He can be reached at toddt@prestonid.us.
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We welcome comments, however there are some guidelines:
Keep it Clean: Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexual language. Don't Threaten: Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated. Be Truthful: Don't lie about anyone or anything. Be Nice: No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading. Be Proactive: Report abusive posts and don’t engage with trolls. Share with Us: Tell us your personal accounts and the history behind articles.