I was playing with my Lincoln Logs minding my own business. At age 11, I must say, being the youngest of three boys had its advantages, at times. I had taken such pride in steadying one of the last few miniature logs on my incredible fort, without the help of my brother Mike, when I was rudely interrupted. With being born nearly deaf in my right ear, I rarely could hear the family through the heat duct on the floor, let alone the talking over the radio broadcast of the World War II news. At the sound of what seemed to be a laughing ruckus coming from everyone (all but Dad, of course) I raced and slid down the banister then ran into the kitchen as I wanted in on the fun too; it had gone silent for the moment. Everyone was still sitting around the table, picking at what crumbs were left from my oldest brother Chester’s birthday cake we had devoured earlier that evening to cap off the celebration. I took my seat between Chester and mom.
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