In the middle of third grade we moved out of Michigan again though we'd always be back for visits. I'd never forget Mom's parents' Sigsbee St. house with narrow driveway between two tall trees and park-like yard with cherry tree I may have climbed once. Inside was the fireplace and big chair where Grandpa told made-up stories featuring a mischievous crow. Neighbors fences bordered our yard in Rochester: Taylor's on the right who had the twins Dean and Dale, Billy's age; flower garden people on the left and swimming pool in the yard behind. Near that back fence I recall losing track of time, building sand towns. Mid-childhood school and church memories blur. One home highlight was the radio show "Greatest Story Ever Told: Greatest Life Ever Lived" starring Jesus which we heard on Sundays while eating melted cheese or brown sugar toast from trays in the living room. Eight-year olds I identified with in books, among family and at church were more often boys than girls. Once I told Nancy I was a boy-- was I explaining my low voice or lack of interest in dolls? Forgive me, sisters, daughters, nieces, for slighting your eight-year old passions. Thanks Mom for labeling photos reviving third grade eyes and minds.