I spent the weekend in Coalville, Utah for the Summit County Fair. I love small town parades and rodeos.

As I sat in a lawn chair on main street across from the courthouse, I was taken back to my childhood. I was raised in a small town with a population of 365 in 1970. I knew everyone and they knew me. My brothers and I used to ride our horses to the ghostly remains of an old adobe pony express station. The roof had long since fallen in, all that was left were the crumling walls. We spent hous and hours playing cowboy and indian, or pretending we were Jim Bowie or Davy Crockett defending the Alamo.

We never locked our doors or shut the garage unless we were leavinng for more that a week. We had a party line telephone we shared with two other homes. I could never get away with much, too many mothers watching their kids and others. My mother usually knew I had done something stupid before I ever walked in the door.

I loved my youth, and as I sat and watched the homemade floats pass by, I was happy that there are still places where life is slow enough to throw candy from a pickup to eager children, or see the vets from the American Legion sit on a flat bed trailer and smile as people stood and honored them. These folks represent the best of America and I don't feel so discouraged for my country.