By JOE BOCANEGRA
Special to the NEWS
Joe Bocanegra
I must have been in sixth grade when I began walking. We lived a few blocks away from what used to be Berta Cabaza Middle School, and my sister and I were forced to start walking to and from school. It was thanks in part of this that I met up with some interesting people, such as the Memorable Four, Mr. Doohickey, and others that have no part in this column just yet.
It was also the time of the Itchy Feet, so named because that’s when I got them. I had to walk in order to ‘scratch the itch.’ It did not matter when it happened, once I got them, on went the shoes and off I went, my curiosity leading the way. This has led to some interesting adventures throughout the combined seven years in school.
Keep in mind that I did not know the city as well as I do now. I was still green, and I often got scolded for getting into someone else’s property. I also had the tact of a steamroller – I would often trample on someone’s yard to admire a newly-planted tree or to look at the yarn furniture that was there. The actions usually led to plenty of swearing and scolding by the current homeowners at the time; although, in some cases, the owners would greet me, offer some refreshment, and would strike a conversation.
On various occasions, my curiosity got myself into sticky situations. One memorable incident was when I foolishly walked into a burned out building and had one of my feet fall into the charred floor. I didn’t fall all the way in, thank goodness, but after pulling myself out and slowly leaving the building, I scolded myself for such a stupid endeavor. Never again, I promised, but that was not to be. A few years after that, I had the idiocy to walk into another condemned building, where I almost had the misfortune to have a piece of masonry fall over my head when I was walking in. Instead, it brushed my shoulder and caused me to slowly back out of the house and walk away.
The itch sometimes woke me up in the middle of the night, keeping me awake for an hour or two before falling back asleep; however, this happened more often during my junior and senior years in high school. Once, I got the itch so badly that I woke up, got out of bed, put on my shoes and walked out towards the downtown area. I remember it being so quiet and calm: just the occasional police car passing by, the streetlamps sifting their lights down, and the soft winds blowing past. That night, I very leisurely strolled down to what was the Goodyear building, sat down on that wooden bench that has been there for ages, and enjoyed the quiet for a bit before walking back home and into bed.
Once I tried selling chocolates. In seventh grade, I received a package of those school chocolate bars. It was en-route home where I got the idea to knock on almost every door and ask if they wanted to buy a bar. I almost sold them all before my parents, driving over to the campus because I was taking too much time walking, pulled over, picked me up and scolded me for bothering people. First and last time doing this, unfortunately.
After graduation, the itchy feet slowly left. Nowadays, the urge to walk has turned into a necessity. Still, once in a while, the urge hits me, and I walk off, my sense of adventure leading me to the still unknown areas of the city. I will probably keep doing this as long as I walk.
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