One of the pleasures of middle age is to find out that one WAS right, and that one was much righter than one knew at, say, seventeen or twenty-three.
I was thinking about how when we are little kids we encounter moments in Eau Claire that shock us, that are so shocking that we can hardly explain in language what we have seen or heard. I think they come in all forms and are different for each of us. One that knocked me was a day when I had gone down to the Pond. I was about eight, so this would have been circa 1952. I don't remember if I was alone, but if I wasn't it would likely have been my best friend with me. We were tossing rocks into the river, which was moving slowly past, right to left. Then we saw something. It was a gunny sack floating by. And we heard something. It was the sound of several kittens mewing, trapped in the sack. And the sack had been tossed into Dells Pond. It was just stunning to see. Too far out for us to get it. I couldn't believe anyone could do something so cruel. I learned that such a disposal was unsurprising. My Gram shrugged her shoulders when I told her. It was just the way of things for her.