Crossing the Tracks

I grew up on the north side of town, next to East Elementary, and in the shadow of Fairborn/Baker High School (now Baker Junior High). I watched the teenagers walk past my house on their way to school, and saw them hovering around the high school before sporting events, social events, and the annual Homecoming bonfire (one of my favorite events). I would hear the marching band practice at the end of every summer. I grew up waiting for my turn to take part in these things.

But fate had other plans for me. In the summer between 7th and 8th grade, my parents moved us across town. I suddenly found myself as one of "them" -- the Hee Hos -- the enemy. It was about the worst thing I could imagine happening to my nearly idyllic childhood. I held a grudge the entire time I attended PHHS, unwilling to accept my new school and geography, and unable to recapture the world I had longed for and lost. I was active in the marching band (HEE HO!) but it wasn't the band I thought I would be in.

I was in the school on the "wrong side" of the tracks.

I want to point out, though, that Rona Hills is also on the wrong side of the tracks!

Some of my best memories from my time on the north side of town revolved around taking unauthorized trips to Rona Hills the back way. There was a path through a huge field that I believe was part of the cement plant. The path started across the tracks along Dayton Drive just past the fieldhouse (Dayton Dr. and Jefferson St.) and ended up at Spangler Road. In the days before I-675, you only had to cross another field to end up on Roehner Drive, and the edge of Rona Hills.

If my parents had any idea of the places I traveled by foot and by bike during those years, I'd still be on restriction.