I was cleaning up some boxes of papers that have been moved at least 4 times without being opened. I can tell by the number of layers of tape and the various crossed out instructions for the movers. The obsolete destinations like “1st bedroom, upstairs” and “basement” are dead giveaways as to what houses these cardboard containers have resided.

The contents were packed with varying degrees of care, with some looking like a trashcan was dumped in and accidentally moved instead of being thrown out. I was rescuing important papers from one of these when I pulled out a little blue folder with “My Life” stenciled on the cover with this picture glued to the front:

The earliest car I can remember is our Woodland Green 1953 Chevrolet. It had a three speed transmission, with the shift lever on the steering column. This was called “three in the tree” back then. The only other transmission option was an automatic, and back then only women and lazy guys had those. It was a basic car, only used by my father to drive to and from work. It was equipped with the 108-h.p. Thrift-King engine and the standard Synchro-Mesh Transmission. It had no radio, or power steering, too expensive for a service man’s pay. I don’t believe there were any other options available for this car. Key-turn starting, heavier body and frame and one-piece windshield were new features for that year.

It had been windy for days and I was tired of it. I was nine years old and wasn’t used to having the wind blowing all day long. I was used to the afternoon wind that came just before the afternoon rain shower. That wind might puff a few times before it got serious, or arrive in a sudden gust with no warning at all. Either way, it brought the fresh ozone-like smell of the approaching thunderstorm, warning me to collect any toys I didn’t want to get wet and to take them inside. I would drop them just inside the doorway, and yell a warning to my Mom, “It’s going to rain!”, and then run right back outside to enjoy the gusty coolness while Mom rushed to rescue her laundry. Soon I’d help take the clothes down from the lines; and sometimes she let me tie a towel around my neck and join the other caped crusaders running up and down the sidewalk, arms held out in the proper Superman flying position.

“I’m home” I yelled as I yanked open the front door and started to run up the stairs to my room. I had just gotten home from school and had to change from my school clothes into my play clothes before I could rejoin my friends.

“Come here, I have something to show you.” I stopped taking the steps two at a time, spun around and jumped to the bottom of the stairs.

“Pop!” The Coast Guard buoy-tender on which he was stationed had returned early from patrol, and the Captain had let anyone not on duty leave early. Not aware of this, and intent on climbing the stairs, I had not seen him sitting at the dining room table.