Oh, what memories!

All traditions begin benignly. Otherwise, they are often labeled crimes. Think back to prankster equestrians, festively costumed in sheets and devilish pillow- case hats, galloping about the countryside, playfully setting afire eye- catching, flammable timber arrangements. Oh, how enchanting!

Remember the delight in tossing dead cats into a neighbor’s well, or planting a burning bag of, uhhh, early stage compost on those porches prior to hiding to watch the delighted homeowners as they stomped the resultant squishy symbol of neighborly salutations.

How fondly we traditionalists enjoy the decorations bestowed on our homes by organized bevies of sparkling-eyed students, embarking on a noble voyage of education and happy, fun- filled nocturnal salutes. Picture those tricky North Little Rock seniors as they fulfill the eager expectations of thrilled juniors. Dozens of rolls of TP festooned waayyyy up in the treetops. Imagine the closeness as families pore over picture albums of the yard- billowing streamers as symbols of affection and regard.

Oh, what fun … what frolic … just think of the memories.

Back in the dim mists I recall the thrills and excitement of pegging the speedometer or zipping around a tight curve on two wheels. Now, not so much. Visions of deer in the road, wheels or tires becoming unattached, 3- year- old toddlers wandering into my trajectory … why, those things never entered my teenaged, fun- loving brain.

I wonder if any of the happy, bubbly teens who were harmlessly altering houses and trees can imagine a reveler being shot … or being the recipient of displeasure from a big, hairy, enraged non- traditionalist.

Oh, what the hell, let’s go key a Mercedes … or smear poop on door handles. What could possibly go wrong? DICK PRICE

Little Rock