Photo credit from publicaddress.net
I can't remember the last time I went over my newspaper route. Nor the time I made a comment about the bright blue sky, the icy morning chill and the trees shedding the last of its crisp brown leaves.
My early classes and busy schedule made it hard for me to partake in my dad's morning business. I kinda miss the simple pleasures I get by going around the neighborhood with a stack of newspapers in my hands and a couple of gateways and doors as my destination.
It was as a newspaper boy I first experienced being reprimanded by my father for a wrong or late delivery, catching a cold and almost sneezing my nostrils out, and get chased by a mad dog! Though there are some downsides like the mentioned above, and yes, dragging yourself out of bed in the wee hours of dawn is one of them, there's also the other side which I see as very special.
It was as a newspaper boy I first discovered the romanticist in me. I very well remember how I first talked to the moon as I make my way to school when I was only 10; how I first noticed the calachuchi (plumeria) tree that showcases strange crimson blooms (instead of the usual pinkish white) all throughout the year on a nearby street, and how I always bask under the warmth of the rising sun when the world seemed at its most calm, quiet and still state.
Looking back, something's have changed a lot since I got my first assigned delivery stash of newspaper. I'm glad that while my interest in comics and kiddie section shifted into the headlines and the more important news features of today, there are something's that can never be changed inside me and that is the heart of a young 10-year old newspaper boy.
Now I realize I really am growing up...