Thursday, February 25, 2010
At the age of three I moved to this brick house in Jefferson, Ohio. We only lived here six months. I remember nothing about the house other than what I've been told. We lived in the bottom half, and the Jefferson Postmaster and his family lived on the second floor.
One day shortly after the move, my brother took off riding his bicycle. I decided I wanted to go with him. So I left to find him without telling my mother. I don't know how long I was gone. Of course, I did not find my brother. My father hurried home from school, and drove around until he found me standing on a street corner several blocks from our house. I see a lot of Bridget in this picture, so watch out.