by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
I think I was about seven years old on the day I learned the meaning of reality on a grassy knoll just west of the Presbyterian church.
My buddies and I were big fans of Superman. Every Saturday morning he’d zip across the skies of Metropolis (which bore a slight resemblance to Coonridge if you took away the buildings, the people, the