Home (Arlington Heights, IL)

The crunch of the stone and gravel driveway beneath the tires as our ’64 Plymouth Belvedere brought our family home from visiting relatives.

The family reunions at my aunt’s house. She had the biggest backyard. The sprawling roots of the giant weeping willow tree made the entire yard bumpy: the source of many skinned knees, bruises and grass stains.

The summer block parties at which the other neighborhood kids and me were given the temporary luxury of riding our bikes in the street.

Danegger’s bakery giving a melt-in-your mouth butter cookie with pink icing and sprinkles to every kid who came in.

The Good Humor Man giving a free ice cream cup to our dog.

Taking swimming lessons during the summer at Recreation Park.

Fireflies in glass jars with holes poked in the lid so they could breathe while in captivity.

My dad taking me fishing at Citation Lake. I was too young to fish but he let me pet the ones he caught.

Running through the backyard sprinkler with my best friend in our sun-suits on a hot July afternoon.

Hiding in the bathroom for shelter when the tornado sirens went off.

Autumn meant walking to school on crisp mosaic sidewalks of orange, red, gold and yellow—Halloween was near!

Trick-or-treating in the afternoon before it got dark and the big kids came out.

Family Christmas parties at our house when—after a few high balls–one of my dad’s brothers would dress up as Santa Claus.

The day we packed up all of our belongings and moved to Colorado where we knew no one   and nothing would ever be the same.

My family fell apart and everything went to hell in a hand-basket.

Go ahead. I don't bite very hard.

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