The Red River

My parents used to take us on day trips. Once my dad said, I’m taking you swimming. Something he never said or did. But once, he actually did. He took us about 20 miles to the Red River.  In my 10 year old mind, I could have been Red River Colorado; instead it was only the river that separated Oklahoma from Texas.  I remember my Dad  fishing, while we played in the muddy red water.  We came home with clay red under wear and socks. And so much sand in our shorts  it chaffed us. For some reason, this trip was not fun.  The ride back was no fun either. We rode in the back of the pickup camper shell. It was hot even with the slat windows cranked open.  The air was ripe with the smell of fish and dried bait.  I was glad we never went back to swim in the Red River again.