Before I joined the rest of the pallbearers, I stood in line to pay my respects and looked down at the old man in the satin-lined coffin. He was a former Chief of Police in my little piece of Nebraska, and I now wear his badge or at least one similar to it. I am told that the badge he wore for years is in his pocket. I thought they might bury him in his uniform, but I guess I would not want to spend eternity in mine either.
I first met him when I was about thirteen years old.
My parents farmed a couple of miles east of town and did so successfully as far as I knew. My best friend was gone for the summer on an extended family vacation somewhere or the other. We would normally hang out together during the summer, so I was on my own. My main form of transportation was my bicycle and it would get me anywhere I wanted to go. Those were different times than they are now. On a warm day I would take off on my bike and sometimes rove for miles, or at least as far as a kid could, and still be home for supper. No one worried about me, there was not much traffic and most of that were locals that I knew and they all waved as they went past.
By Brad Kellogg
Read the entire story in the latest edition of Living Here magazine.
Order yours today! 888-673-1081