Getting ready for class this morning, my roommates and I had my Pandora Music blasting in the living room. The song “Red Dirt Road” by Brooks and Dunn comes on and I couldn’t help but reminisce . The song describes memories linked to a red dirt road near where the narrator grew up. It describes where the narrator drank his first beer, learned about love, wrecked his first car, found Jesus, and learned that "happiness on Earth ain't just for high achievers".
For years, this song has reminded me of Hatch Road, a narrow little dirt road that connected my neighborhood to downtown Lorena, Texas. While this road was much too narrow and curvy to ever actually spend time on, I can still link it to equally important experiences that surround my own little dirt road, my little town, and a few other roads for that matter.
Hatch Road is the route that my mom and I would take on the way to 6:30am theatre rehearsals where I spent time with an amazing and diverse group of people that would shape the woman that I have become and brought so many blessing to my life. If you had been a fly on the inside of that car at 6:30 in the morning, you would have heard an interesting mix of Adele, Taylor Swift, KC and Sunshine band and whole interesting group of performers. You would have heard life lessons being taught, high school angst, gushing over the latest crush, and occasional cranky-ness of two sleep-deprived, yet highly caffeinated girls.
This road brought many encounters with snakes, other wildlife, and the occasional alien (yes, you read that correctly).
Hatch road is where I let a stupid boy take me around a few corners too quickly, it was home to some supposed ghost encounters, and it will always be a part of me.
I lived right at the end of Hatch Road, on Old Bethany Rd. This is where my family met some of the best friends that we have ever known. The Jackson family is truly the epitome of what it means to be a light of Christ. Jeff, Jennifer and Selby have the most welcoming and warm hearts and they cared for us like family. One of my first memories of them was standing out in the front yard talking with Jeff and my dad and this adorable 3-year old, red haired, Opie-Taylor-look-alike running out too see us, wearing nothing but his brand new “big boy underwear”
.Over the years, they watched my brother and I grow up and we watched Selby grow up. We spent evenings at the ball fields together, many summer nights out on our porches and I looked forward to greeting Jennifer and Selby every morning waiting for the school bus.
Most girls can expect their boyfriends to have to pass approval/interrogation from their fathers, but I was lucky enough to also have Jeff and Selby on that board of review. There were many dates and front-yard talks with boys that were interrupted by Selby sprinting over “just to say hey”. I probably rolled my eyes at these wacky boys, but I always knew that they were looking out for me and I loved them dearly for it.
Old Bethany road is where I raised my puppy-dogs, said goodbye to one puppy, thought I fell in love, got my heart broken, went on a few dates and eventually found a love that is still strong and beautiful today.
On the other end of Hatch Road were the downtown McBrayer park and the high school. McBrayer park saw many photo shoots, 1 lost earring, a 15th birthday party icing-fight and even Junior Prom pictures. At the high school, the performing arts center is where so many wonderful things happened. I built amazing friendships and learned so much about life, having fun, and the importance of working hard. A lot of goofiness happened here so early in the mornings. The feigned headset flirtationships between the stage manager and the booth manager, the occasional stolen kiss behind the curtains, autographing our UIL bus and countless inside jokes.
As I get older, I think more and more about the significance and emotions associated with different roads and towns.
Lura Lane in Jonestown,(for those who understand this chapter) almost immediately hits me with an incredible tidal wave of emotions. I flashback to extremely pleasant memories of pulling up to that house.I love remembering how Mom and Dad would wake us up as we pulled in and then help us to not roll down the steep driveway as we sleepily stumbled up to Grandma and Granddad's house. This road now also can slap an instant anxiety attack, mixed with bitter-sweetness and a bout of PTSD.
There are streets in Abilene that will always be “Ma and Pa” roads filled with memories of picking up pecans, tennis matches and walking to the park with all of the cousins.
Maybe I’ve gone off on ridiculous tangents, or maybe I’ve just run crazy with an inspiration from Brooks and Dunn, Anyhow, I felt like writing today and I hope it turned out alright. If anything, maybe I’ve left my readers reminiscing about their own “Red Dirt Roads”. Isn’t what a good journalist is supposed to do; give their reader everything that they can, and still leave them with something to think about for the rest of the day?
