As we empty out yet another family home, we are once again awash in a flood of memories.
My Dad played for the Kingston (PA) High School Huskies in 1948, which was in the Wyoming Valley Conference, and he used to tell me how knock-down-drag-out t-o-u-g-h these football games between small local high schools used to be.
The sons and grandsons of coal-miners, and first generation Americans of all ethnic backgrounds came together as a T-E-A-M...and bone-jarring hits that could be felt in the bleachers were commonplace, as barroom bragging rights for the next year were on the line.
Nary a face mask could be found, and more than a few teeth littered fields throughout the Wyoming Valley after almost every game.
The sons and grandsons of coal-miners, and first generation Americans of all ethnic backgrounds came together as a T-E-A-M...and bone-jarring hits that could be felt in the bleachers were commonplace, as barroom bragging rights for the next year were on the line.
Nary a face mask could be found, and more than a few teeth littered fields throughout the Wyoming Valley after almost every game.
Wish I could have seen at least one of them.
Like a river, Memory Lane stretches on forever.
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