1961

Terrible twos.

I have a fairly certain memory of my mother pouring milk on my father's head at the dinner table, and the fight that followed.

I became aware of Reen Lutheran Church, my grandparents and family sing-alongs, Janie and Carol Jenkerson, the daughters of my mom's best friend, Grace Jenkerson, who married Larry Jenkerson around the same time as my Mom and Dad got married. They were all just teenagers, barely old enough to get married at all.

Teenagers! When I look at the pictures of them from this time I can't believe how young they are. Especially my dad, who looks like he's 12 years old.

The arithmetic of teenaged parents has a grim justice to it, one that I've come to cherish, maybe even prefer. The younger the parent, the smaller the proportion of the child's life is spent as the child.

Reen was the local Church we went to, so I was raised in the Lutheran Church. My mother loved the Pastor, an extraordinary man of great charisma, Bill Lesher, who went on to great prominence in the church. We remained good friends with the Leshers for the rest of my life, even after they moved to Chicago a few years later. My brother and I loved hanging out with their boys, Greg and David. Whenever we went up to Chicago to visit them we had a lot of laughs.

I was inclined to take off on walks by myself. I distinctly remember wanting to see things without being hurried along by my mom. My earliest memory of walking down Arco by myself was the first time I saw black kids. They came out of a gangway at me, screaming and yelling with joy. What's a little white boy to think? I ran all the way home.

Among my toys