Overheard
It was late autumn of 1964. I was the eldest of four boys, John, Jerry, Joe and Jeff. We were living in a house that Dad had built with his bare hands. Located near groveport, Ohio, our home was on Hayes Road, along with the homes of two of Dad’s brothers and Granpa. It was a neat arrangement.
I remember the day that Dad brought home two puppies. I harken ...
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