Third grade at Rocky Ridge elementary.  The school, the fun I had and the feelings that to this day I still feel when I think back on that time in my life.  A good time, a time of innocence, a time of being surrounded by love and encouragement from my parents.  The friends we had, the Dickens, and our dog, Chip.  I had a great family with my sister Lorie and younger brother, Keith.  Unlike most kids my age who didn't care to be seen with their siblings, they were my best friends.  It made for great memories.  Memories of my dad skating with us in the church parking lot, memories of my once being sick and writing poetry to my mom about how much I loved her.  I remember all of us having pink eye at the same time and  being in bed sick together with mom taking care of us.  

I guess I was also a little wild at times having hurt both Keith and Lorie while playing to hard.  I remember Keith breaking his arm while I was playing with him one night.  He was a tough little kid.  He broke it and didn't even go to the doctor for several days.  I remember shaking a small tree he was in while playing in the woods one day and he fell out busting his head, again requiring another trip to the doctor.  Then one day while my cousins from the Carolinas, the Frates ,were down for a visit.  All the kids were out front hitting a baseball, when Lorie walked up behind me while I was taking a swing with a baseball bat, and I hit her in the forehead....another trip to the doctor.  

We lived in a small house next to a church on a corner.  From our house we were able to see the school that I attended that was on the next small hill.  I would walk to school every day along with  my friends.  Now that I think about it, with the exception of the first grade, I walked to almost every school I attended, no matter the distance.  I walked everywhere, I was a strider, one meant to walk the earth.  It was my personal challenge, no distance was to great, never would I walk less than full speed, and never would I show anyone that I was tired.  The short kid with the long strides.   

One memory I have of the third grade at Rocky Ridge was the day my new baby sister, Leslie, was to come home.  I was eight and I had a new "baby" sister.  Lorie and Keith already had made their mark on my world and I was so excited that my new sister was coming into our lives.  Mom had been gone at the hospital and I couldn't wait.  I remember walking to school that day, thinking of what she would be like, telling my friends of my new sister, who I hadn't even met yet.  As the day went on, the routine of school set in and I didn't dwell on the new arrival.  

I was sitting in class daydreaming, looking out the window, when I happened to see a car pull into our short driveway, up to the house.  Then I saw my mom and dad get out of the car, with mom holding something.  Then it struck me, the excitement took over, I realized it was my sister.  I was so excited I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to be home.  I had never done anything wrong, never broke a rule or resisted authority.  It was my day to act.  I raised my hand, quietly asked my teacher if I could go to the restroom and got up to leave the room.  I remember that as soon as I stepped out of the room and the door closed behind me, I started running. Running down the hall, running out the door, running down the long drive to the main road, across the street and up the hill to our house.  My sister was home.  Nothing else in life mattered, I was going to be home with my family.  

She was special to me.  As an eight year old I took to her, the newness, the wonderment of new life. I was at an age that I could just begin to appreciate new life, helplessness and the caring needed to survive.   I remember having Lorie and Keith convinced that I could understand her and that we could talk together in baby talk.  It was a good time in my life, a good time for all of us.    I never wanted anything to happen to her, my sister, Leslie.