Branson, 1982

“There was nothing to fear and there was nothing in doubt.”
-Radiohead, “Pyramid Song.”

In the summer, our first summer to have cars and drive wherever whenever, most of my friends and I spent a great quantity of time stuck in traffic on Highway 76. Branson still is, but more so then, a long, narrow town stretching from east to west from the downtown area four miles to what was the city limit, which was about six or seven miles from Silver Dollar City, the local amusement park. Most of the fun was centered on “The Strip.” Go-karts, mini-golf, restaurants, country music shows, the Wal-Mart, and lots and lots of cars going three to ten miles an hour on a two lane highway, in the heat.

Sometimes it would take upwards of 45 minutes to an hour to travel only a couple of miles. We would have our windows rolled down, listening to the radio, waiting to move. Sometimes we’d yell to people traveling the opposite direction, also stalled in traffic, also making the best of the situation. And, even with the extra tourists milling around, we always saw someone we knew, meeting on the highway or the back roads, or stopped in the opposite lane. You can always see someone waving to you, or someone else, in Branson.

I worked at the Dairy Queen for $2.50 an hour, minus breaks and a 50% meal discount. My 1977, two door, Monte Carlo was orange, with bucket seats that swiveled. And when I wasn’t at work, we drove around town. Branson is built on and stretches over many hills, and when there was less or no traffic, we would zoom up and down the hills and curves of residential areas, much faster of course than we should have.

Some of the roads were so steep that, when it rained, they became impassable. An acquaintance crashed his car into a mobile home situated at the bottom of two steep hills that joined in a dangerous curve the locals called Billy Goat Hill. Every year, there were several severe or deadly crashes by young drivers who drove just a little too fast to handle the terrain. I too, crashed my car that year, six months after getting my license. Not seriously, but enough to add a percentile to the statistics of the hills and curves against inexperienced drivers.

But I’ll never forget that thrill, the feeling of my stomach dropping to touch my gonads, that floating feeling of hitting the crest of a downward curve, those narrow roads and near misses, climbing those hills… Absolute, delicious freedom to a 16-year-old who’d seen nothing but who thought opposite. I still sometimes think about the blessed innocence of growing up in Branson. The beauty all over the hills and valleys, the inherent trust of the people living there, the willingness to help a stranger out, to give someone the benefit of the doubt, are all attributes I took for granted. I mocked them, downplaying their value in exchange for how the rest of the unknown world lived, or how I imagined they did.

In Key West, I cursed my ignorance when my trust in new friends and acquaintances was unwarranted, resulting in some sort of stupidity, in whatever forms it assumed. I felt small and intimidated compared to those more sophisticated and worldly than myself. I resented not being more prepared for the harsh realities of my present circumstances. I felt, stupid, trusting, and naïve, and that was bad.

But now, years later, seeing so many different people blessed with less, grow up without, exist day to day not having that foundation of stability those long, languid, boring, innocent days growing up in the Ozarks provided, I do feel very lucky, indeed. My thoughts, my actions, reactions, behavior, and perspective are all firmly rooted in those Ozarks hills, driving around, bored, restless, or having fun, assured of my family’s love, not having any idea how much more I was given at birth for just having been born there. Now I have a clearer understanding of how much that love, those days, that life, have impacted the rest of my days. I am very lucky, indeed.