We Need More "Remember When" In Our Lives
By Thomas D. Segel (09/08/07)
Harlingen, Texas, September 7, 2007: The town of Smithville, Texas has sat there snuggled up against the Colorado River since about 1836 when it was a riverboat landing site. The town was actually incorporated in 1895.
This antique little town of about 4,500 rural Texans is a place I love to visit for several reasons. My son Jason and his wife Jodi have elected to make it their home and the place where they are raising my three grandchildren. I also like to view Smithville from the vantage point of nostalgia. It holds a taste of an America that can now only be found in those small towns that dot the landscape of this great country.
Smithville is one of those traditional “railroad towns” that could once be found everywhere. That it clings to this important spot in history and still embraces those bygone railroad days only adds to the flavor of the town. The city has a Railroad Park, where even the jungle gym is in the shape of a train. The old station is a museum and next to it is a train for children to explore. Active railroad tracks run next to the park and trains chug by on a regular timetable.
There are two other significant facts about Smithville, Texas. It is the location of the 1998 Sandra Bullock motion picture “Hope Floats” and it holds title to making the world’s largest Gingerbread Man, a cookie that measured more than 26 feet.
This is a town of community. Everyone knows everyone else. Even though children seem to have a town-wide leash, they know any misconduct is only a telephone call away from their parents.
Folks still sit on their front porch swings and watch children playing in the yard, or riding bikes on streets where almost every car moves along at a slow, child-wary pace.
The annual fish fry is a fundraiser for several local non-profits and the guys at the volunteer fire department always cook it. The Smithville Jamboree held just after Easter brings out the whole town. The Fourth of July is always fun, food and a parade. Christmas is celebrated with the Festival of Lights and music abounds in January at Opry Night.
You travel back one hundred years and more as you walk past the buildings on Main Street. Historical homes are everywhere, half hidden behind a curtain of shade trees that line every street.
Yes, for me Smithville is a time capsule that brings back “Remember When”. We have all played that word trip down memory lane in various forms. But, for me it is recalling those bygone days of playing ball with the neighborhood kids. No officials, no uniforms, no coaches…it was one bat, one ball and maybe a couple of mitts. You divided up sides as evenly as possible. It could be three or four to a side…. or 10 to 15, depending on who was allowed to come out and play. There was “Kick the Can” in the street, building forts, making orange crate cars, the old swimming hole in the summer and everyone played outside until it was so dark that Mom was yelling for you to come home.
We didn’t have Nanny Government demanding that everything conform to its set of rules. There were no car seats, no seat belts; everything had lead in it from our toy soldiers to the gasoline in the cars. We only drank bottled water if we happened to be away from the front yard hose and someone else had filled up a jug. Kids shared drinks, candy, ice cream and every other product we consumed. We had sleep outs in the woods, build tree houses and rafts, and played countless pranks on teachers, cranky old people and ourselves. And guess what…. we all grew up healthy, happy and without the assistance of any political hack.
It is a shame there are not more places like Smithville, Texas in all our lives. We were much better off when we kept things simple, and made our world family, friends, neighbors, and community. We were happier when we watched as the kids played outside until the fireflies started darting around the yard. We were closer as a people when we knew the family across the street and down the block. We were united when our flags flew at almost every home and church bells heralded in every Sunday.
Perhaps we should all search out our own Smithville, for surely that is the only way we can escape from these red-state, blue-state, hate filled media, endless political babble filled existances we call living. We need to find our own Smithville… and a little more “Remember When” in our lives.
Semper Fidelis,
Tom Segel
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