It’s so fun to look at pictures of my husband when he was a boy. It makes my mind see him then. And I see me too. He is a year and a half older than me. I imagine that we grew up in the same town. We actually grew up only 2 hours apart: he in Fort Wayne, Indiana and I in Detroit, Michigan. So close and yet so far. We didn’t meet until we were in our 40s.
I imagine living in his neighborhood at age 9 or 10, walking up to his front door and knocking. Here is the interchange between his Mom and me.
“Hi Mrs. Dunson. Can Walter come out and play?”
“Hello. Walter, that crazy girl is here again.”
My imagination is vivid and silly. Like me.