Ignorance Is Bliss
Margaret Locke (margaretlocke.com or @Margaret_Locke)
My dad and I, we loved going downtown.
Sometimes we’d stop in the five-and-dime and buy a tomahawk or a big hat with feathers, and pretend we were Indians, hunting the White Man and chasing buffalo.
We didn’t worry about being politically correct. That didn’t exist then.
Sometimes we’d eat lunch at the local diner, chowing down on hamburgers and malted milkshakes to our heart’s content.
Nobody cared about cholesterol or calories or fat content or sodium levels.
Occasionally he’d take me to the hardware store, and we’d buy nails and lumber remnants. We were gonna make a treehouse better than anything Swiss Family Robinson ever had, until lightning split the backyard oak in half.
We climbed the gnarled trunk anyway, never thinking twice about broken bones or insurance issues.
The last time we went downtown was after dad lost his job. We stopped at the bank, where he showed the teller my pea shooter. She was so impressed, she gave him wads of cash.
I didn’t understand he’d committed armed robbery. I just knew he was my dad, and I loved him.
Life was much simpler then, before I learned about jails and the justice system and poverty and crime.
I don’t go downtown anymore.
This week we had to construct a story around this photo prompt and a downtown setting, all in 200 (+/-10) words. How did I do?
I hope you’ll hop on over to Flash Friday Fiction and check out the other terrific (and tiny) tales waiting for you!