When I was six, we lived on Leonard Ave. in an area of Pasadena called Hastings Ranch. It was a relatively steep area in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains where rocket scientists from JPL (NASA) and Cal Tech congregated.
The trail to kindergarten.
Not being one of them, I walked to my kindergarten class at Don Benito Elementary School. It was an uphill slog through earthquakes, blizzards, raging grass fires, and worse.
I remember a few things from my time at Don Benito:
1. My phone number was Elgin 5-2622.
2. Never cut your own hair. A classmate had demonstrated his skill, and I guess his parents sent him to school anyway as punishment. He looked like a fuzzy bowling ball with a few unnecessary holes. I learned from his lesson and applied it to dentistry.
3. Dog biscuits and a handful of fresh green beans make a great snack, a lesson learned at a friend’s house at about the halfway point of my hike. I was surprised that my mom seemed okay with that. In college, a roommate cooked canned dog food in our apartment, having read a report that people were doing it to save money. For the record: Don’t. And what’s with rocket scientists?
We lived next door to the Andersons. Mr. Anderson worked on the brakes of the ill-fated XB-70 bomber. Mrs. Anderson was a stay-at-home mom (still a thing at the time) until their divorce. Their children were Marta and Dana, and another child too young for me to remember clearly.
Marta and I shared a first kiss in their garage. I know it was mine, anyway.
Her brother Dana was well-remembered for steering his dad’s car out of the driveway and down the hill into a parked car, which brings me to the Facebook post. If only he had a Playmobile. Or, maybe he did.
