I was thinking recently about my first real job, as a paper boy for three years, delivering 32 copies of the Times Leader on my trusty Sears bicycle in a small town just outside the valley city of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.
What was most enjoyable about that 5 a.m. route was the fresh morning air and the feeling that those of us awake at that hour didn’t have to share the world with too many others.
I had that route down cold. I knew who wanted their paper placed under the porch mat and who wanted it inside the storm door. I used mouse-like reflexes to keep beaten-down porches from creaking as I gingerly placed the paper inside attached mailboxes. Every two weeks I did collections; four dollars for a two-week subscription.
The end of my route was a dead end in a wooded area two miles from home. One morning, I was cornered there by a snarling German Shepherd-sized mutt who looked to me like Cujo.
The dog wouldn't retreat, so I banged on someone’s door and asked the man who answered for help. He knew the dog was trouble and called the police. An officer arrived quickly and used his car to block the dog, forcing it into the woods.
“If that dog bothers you again,” he said as I pedaled away, "I’ll shoot it myself.” I have no doubt he meant that.
Times have changed, and it’s mostly adults now delivering newspapers by car. That's sad, really, 'cause there’s nothing like a paper route to teach a kid responsibility, discipline, money management and the ability -- or inability I guess -- to outsmart a menacing dog just before sunrise.
I'm Wester Wuori, and I just delivered my perspective.
