Richmond Street

I remember Aunt Mary's house well.

I spent a lot of time there in the summers. There was a huge open field behind the house, and beyond that field was Lincoln Park. There was a boy who lived next door whose name escapes me. He was like Huck Finn when it came to the park, he knew it like the back of his hand.

I used to go to Aunt Mary's and go off with that boy into the park. It was supposed to be a scary place, but we never saw a soul in our travels. Upon entering the park we where in the wilderness. we would roam for what seemed like hours and then come to a familiar place, the entry point right in time for lunch. There was always something waiting to eat when I came in sweaty and starving. I was welcomed in by a sandwich and a cool drink. Aunt Mary would often have a chopped up Bologna sandwich mixed with relish and mayonnaise that hit the spot for the formerly marauding adventurer across the wilderness that was the park.

The time there was among the best times I remember in "little boy" growing up terms. Aunt Mary and Grandma always seemed to me more like sisters than mother and daughter.