Trail Town - Part 1
Growing up on the rocks and learning who I wanted to become
When I think of my hometown I think of rocks.
I grew up in the small town of Palmerton, Pennsylvania - a defunct factory town tucked beside a mountain. I had the quintessential childhood, the kind you only see on television now. I had a swingset in the backyard, birthday parties with a dozen classmates, paper valentines dropped into lunch bags, all the hits. The town felt safe and I played outdoors all day till the street lamps came on. Yet under the veneer of ice skating rinks and a local milkman still delivering dairy to our front door—it was the kind of town constantly trying to prove it was something it wasn’t—which I could relate with.
I was raised pure 90s middle class. My mom was a teacher, my dad was a salesman. They’re both retired now, living in the same beautiful 22-room house bought in 1976 for $27,000. The wide street in front of my parents’ house was lined with beautiful beech trees. I remember whipping past them on my ten speed, kicking up leaves like golden sparks.
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