When our children were small, we lived in a neighborhood alive with children; a perfect place to be if you were a child. One family of ten children supplied baby sitters for us, one of whom was Greg. Aside from seeing him briefly three years ago at his father's funeral, I hadn't seen Greg since 1976 because we left the old neighborhood. Last Friday he unexpectedly came roaring up to our house on his motorcycle while visiting from his home in Arizona. We had a great time reminiscing: just exactly what were those kids doing in the fort down in the swamp? who started the grass fires every spring? why did some neighbors complain when the 3-year-old boys were peeing in the middle of the street? why did I always refer to Greg as "a callow youth?"
Greg's siblings are scattered throughout the country and his mother is now living in Florida. Good to get an update plus getting a photo of him and one of his charges, my son Karl, before Greg left.
Added later: I don't know why this post occurred on July 31 instead of the above date, but here it is! What did I do, I wonder?