When I was very young, perhaps not even in kindergarten or maybe a little older, my brother and I went to visit my cousin for a sleepover. At least, I think it was a sleepover – we may have just been spending the day. In any case, we were very young and the city was resurfacing roads in and around their house. So, the three of us decided to go down to the curb and play in the puddle. The puddle was, of course, tar from the roadwork.
I remember very little of the incident, other than being covered in the black stuff basically from head to toe. I am sure we had it in our hair, all over our bodies, and who knows where else. What I also remember is taking a bath (or what seemed like a bath) in Turpentine to get it off.
I’m not sure what prompted that memory just now, but there it is. Of course, in this day and age, child services would have been called long before we even had an ounce of tar on us just for being that close to the road. I am sure, however, the entire adventure had a lesson in it that I’ve carried the rest of my life. I suppose, if anything, I learned not to play in a pool of tar.
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