on Highpoint Drive

If you grew up back in the day, you know that neighborhoods just hit different. There was always something going on, a bit of mischief to get into, or some random adventure waiting right outside the front door. For me, that childhood wonderland was Highpoint Drive. Looking back, I honestly don’t know how our parents survived us—but we certainly kept life interesting.

Dad’s “Pet” and Other Roof-Raising Adventures

Most kids grow up begging their dads for a puppy or a kitten. My dad, however, went a slightly different route. He had a raccoon.

Now, if you know anything about raccoons, you know they don’t exactly make ideal house guests. We didn’t have it for very long; it wasn’t long before it started getting mean, and Dad realized a wild bandit wasn’t meant for domestic life. Needless to say, the raccoon had to go, but it certainly set the tone for the kind of household we ran.

Speaking of keeping my parents on their toes, I was an incredibly “helpful” toddler. One afternoon, Dad was up working on the roof at the front of the house, and Mom was occupied inside for just a split second. To a pint-sized explorer, the unattended ladder leaning against the back of the house was basically an engraved invitation.

I scaled that thing like a pro, completely out of sight. Dad didn’t have a clue what I was up to until he turned around and saw his toddler standing right there on the roof with him. I can only imagine the near-heart attack he had.

The Great Floor Grate Incident

The hazards weren’t just outside, either; our actual house was a safety inspector’s nightmare by modern standards. To heat the place, we had an old-school in-floor heater, which was basically just a massive iron grate cut right into the floorboards. When that thing was running, it did a fine job of heating the house, but that metal would get absolutely, incredibly hot.

Naturally, having a superheated branding iron right in the middle of the living room floor was a recipe for disaster when you factored in classic sibling rivalry.

My brother was just a small child at the time, and me, being the mean older sibling that I was, decided to have a little “fun.” I caught him and held him down right on top of that blazing hot metal grate. He started crying and yelling, which brought Mom running to see what the fuss was about. By the time she caught me and pulled him away, the damage was already done. My poor brother was left with a perfect, tiny little tic-tac-toe board pattern temporarily branded onto his stomach.

It wasn’t child abuse, it was just the wild, unchecked reality of sibling rivalry back then. It was one of those things about living in that era—nobody really thought twice about child-proofing or safety, you just learned your lessons the hard way!

Captain Kangaroo and the Vampire Behind the Couch

Our TV habits back then were a little different, too. Unlike just about every other kid my age, I absolutely did not care for Bozo the Clown. Bozo just wasn’t my thing. Instead, my morning loyalty belonged to Captain Kangaroo.

But my real television obsession came later in the day, and it was a bit more unconventional for a little kid: Dark Shadows. I was fascinated by it, even though it scared me half to death. The only way I could muster up the courage to watch Barnabas Collins do his dastardly deeds was from a safe hiding spot peeking out from behind the living room couch. I was terrified, but I never missed a single episode.

The Neighborhood Wanderer

I wasn’t just adventurous at home; I liked to branch out. One day, a neighbor from down the road knocked on our front door, holding me by the hand. He looked at my mom and calmly asked, “Does this one belong to you?”

He had found me wandering several houses down the road, completely oblivious and just living my best life. Back then, the neighborhood kept an eye on you, which was lucky for me because my internal GPS clearly needed calibration.

The Diaper Incident (And an ER Scolding)

Some memories are etched into your brain because they came with a lesson learned the hard way. Younger generations today will never understand the old-school routine of soaking cloth diapers in a bucket of scalding hot water.

To a curious kid, a bucket is just asking to be investigated. Stupid me, I decided it needed to be turned over. That little stunt earned me a painful burn, a frantic trip to the emergency room, and earned my poor mom a severe scolding from a stern nurse who thought she should’ve had eyes in the back of her head.

Frisky and the Flying Cat

Of course, we did eventually get normal pets. I had two of my own: a great dog named Frisky, and a cat whose name has faded from my memory, though its unique talent definitely hasn’t.

This cat had a special “gift” it bestowed upon anyone who dared to lift it up. It had a terrible, absolute reflex of pooping on you the very second its paws left the ground. You learned very quickly to leave that cat on terra firma, or suffer the messy consequences.

Highpoint Drive was full of chaotic energy, minor injuries, and wild pets—but I wouldn’t trade those crazy days for anything.