In the deep recesses of my mind, tucked in a well-protected crevasse is Heartland. Memories of my boyhood reside there. It is a place where a boy’s picturesque view of his world makes time stand still. I do not often go there, but when I do a warm memory always welcomes me. Let’s go there now. A memory of my boyhood is waiting for us.

Northwest of the town square, past the bank, water tower, and United Methodist Church a modest, two story white house rests on a corner lot. My friend John’s aunt lives here. On the west side of the house, an enclosed stairway leads to a second floor apartment. With eager anticipation, John and I climb the steep stair steps.

At the precise moment our feet touch the top step, a “C’mon in boys, there’s work to do” greets us.

Waving us in, fussing with his…