Paper Boy

 The whiteout came out of nowhere as he struggled to move forward in the frigid afternoon. He was a paper boy, a job boys longed for, but few could say they succeeded. It was a time when the evening paper was read by thousands, mostly with stories of local happenings and worldwide news that people depended on every day. And it was he they depended on, no matter the weather conditions.

The summer months were the easiest as he could strap on his newspaper bag and ride his bike throughout his route, chucking papers onto lawns and driveways. He was always done in time for dinner, with plenty of daylight left to play with his friends. On Saturdays, he collected the weekly charge from all his customers, which was paid in coins that he put in what he called his clicker. There were slots for quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies, and the clicker was clipped to his belt.

Most people paid on time and were given a small ticket of that week's color as a receipt. For those who didn't pay, the ticket was left in his ledger to be collected next week. This simple method worked perfectly. With seventy-five customers, he collected what he paid for the newspaper itself, and the leftover was his to keep, usually about ten dollars a week. Not too shabby for a twelve-year-old kid.

Autumn brought cooler temperatures and a light jacket as he increased his customer base by ten new subscribers, giving him a chance at winning the year with the most subscriptions. The prize was a brand-new bicycle larger than the one he'd had for years, but always faithful until it got stolen right out of his front yard. My dad reported it stolen, and within one day, it was recovered at a kid's house who had a record for similar thefts. I hoped I would get it back before my afternoon delivery, but no such luck, so I put the bag over my shoulder and began walking, or briskly walking, to complete the day. It was well after dinner, and darkness set in as I walked into the kitchen, dropped my bag, and ate the dinner Mom had kept warm for me.

Springtime meant rain and a lot of it. I wore a raincoat, hat, and rubber boots that always seemed to get wet no matter what I did. Once, I bent the fork of my bike as I rode through what I thought was a puddle, but it turned out to be a deep pothole, and I had to walk the rest of my route with my broken bike. Dad helped me straighten the fork, and I was ready to go the next day. A bit more about winter.

Winter was cruel and in control. I had to walk or beg my Mom or Dad for a ride, but those were few and far between. My dad believed the weather made me stronger, but he surprised me once in a while and took me in the warm car. Most days, I dressed like the Michelin tire guy, completely covered except for my eyes so I could see through the blizzards we often had. Some customers made me step inside to thaw out, even gave me a hot chocolate, and sent me on my way.

Overall, I enjoyed my days as a paperboy, even in the worst weather. It made me appreciate no matter what you do for a living, you never stop going forward, even against sixty MPH winds.

Mike 2025