The Life of an American Child

As the morning fog lifted off the barren ground, a young child stepped out into the light of a new day. The ground, damp with night’s dew, was cold on the child’s feet. A child so innocent and young in life would go through many hardships and many great and wonderful times, a life of hard work and hard play, a life full of death and life. This is the life of just one of America’s many rural youth, me.

The story of my youth starts on that foggy morning in June of 1991. I came into the world kicking and screaming. I was never one to sleep the whole night. From my earliest memories I was always up and about.

I joined six other brothers and sisters, a family made for the farm.  All the children used to joke that our parents had us in shifts to make the work easier.

I was joined by a sister three years later. We grew up playing with each other and picking on each other. That is how great family bonds are born.

At five I faced the first trial of my life. In the summer of 1996, life was great. A five year old, my cousin, was over every other day to play with me. I could always count on spending half the day playing tag or hide and seek with my cousin. One day that cousin didn’t show up.

As I walked round the house to the front door, I could feel the sadness in the air. The cousin who had played with me all these years was not around. Not a mile from his house, my cousin lay in the ditch with the twisted remains of a three wheeler and a van. My parents tried to explain that my cousin was no longer going to be around, and it hit me hard.  It was a long journey through that tough time. I kept my emotions to myself and I tried to look tough, but on the inside I was burning up.

By age six, I was in school and meeting new people, and learning new things. But life again would take one more step in the wrong direction for a young youth.

One day  I rolled out of bed on a rainy morning. I trotted down the stairs and turned the corner into the living room. I sensed that something was wrong. There, sitting on the dusty old couch, was my whole family, all wet eyed. As I walked toward to them, I was told that my grandpa had died in the night. I was shocked. The man who looked as if he would never die was taken from the world and from his family in the blink of an eye. As the emotions spilled out, I felt as if the world had come to a stop.

Just a few years later, the snow on the ground was heavy and wet. The child turned teen was bouncing along in a pickup before the sun has even thought about bringing life to the world. It is my first deer hunt, a time that every boy looks forward to and every parent hates, a time when the young hold the power of life and death in their hands.

I sit in the bitter cold of the early morning, waiting for the sun to bring some warmth and life to the world. The movement of the creatures of day arouses my attention. A robin sings back in the trees, a rabbit walks across the opening in the trees.

A step in the right direction this time.

Finally, after what seems like hours, a deer walks to the opening. It is a youth just as I am.

As I line up the crosshairs on the animal’s heart, I can’t help but think what I will be doing. I will be taking life. It might not be a human, but it is still life, all the same.

The sound echoes across the valley. Thud. The deer stumbles and then falls. As I walk to the deer, he knows that he has not done anything wrong, but I feel the wrong in him. I have taken the life of a son. Even though it is not human, it is still a life.

In my first year of high school, I change. I become more concerned about what people think. I take more time to do things so that they look better and are done right. In sports and other activities, I become more involved with my community. On my first day of football, though, I am scared to mess up or to give the wrong impression of what I can do. But as I leave school, I head home. As I walk through the front door, I am met by my mother. She tells me that lunch is on the table, and tells me to make sure chores get done. Life is so much simpler at home than it is in school.

At the end of the school year, I begin another summer of hard work and long hours. I say goodbye to all my friends and am off to the farm that has given me everything that I could ever want. Out in the field, I sit in the tractor, listening to the hum of the engine. I am reminded that the world is not perfect, but it gives everyone a chance to be someone who can do something.

I have had a life fit for a king; I always have had everything I needed. I have never gone without food or family. The only thing that I would change, if I could, would be that it could last forever.

As I lay down my head at night, I think of all the good times and all the bad. Then I weigh them in my head. The good times always weigh more.

Steven Holzbauer