I have this memory about what it was like in my childhood...I always thought I lived in THEIR world...it was a myopic of observations and I guess growing up properties...nevertheless, it seemed I was always taking up space and living in that rental form of pre-life...I grew up living at a Native American (Indian for this story) boarding school...both of my parents worked there and we lived in a staff house...in fact, most of the workers there did the same...a community if you will...there were just a few kids my age so I spent most of my growing time an observer...I'd get on my bike and scour the school and watch...in THEIR world...I remember... following the carpenter who talked to himself and laughed at what he said... going to the basketball games that Coach Bartlett fathered and felt it was our team...listening to the band leader, Vinnie Matt, who belted out his trumpet like no other...going to my dad's print shop and watch him lay type, backwards and upside down, quickly...swinging forever waiting for my big brother to come home from West Point...going to the school's bakery and eating the 4 inch cookies that Mrs. Saunders always baked...waiting at school before it opened with a black friend, Vertis, as some kid went by and called him "nigger", watching Vertis's forehead cringe...listening to my mom tell World War 2 stories about the blackouts...Oh sure, it was THEIR world, but I'll never forget it...
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But my strongest memory is running for the bus, when I missed it on our street, and going through the campus to catch it in front of the store. Used to have that re-occurring dream. You might have been too young to remember the 4 h summer and the livestock we all had. I'd love to see that book you wrote.