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Let me just say there is nothing that strikes more fear into my

It’s next to me, the textured binding is tattered, the stamped, indented cover title “Willie” on the orange background has scribbled black crayon on it courtesy of my younger brother – boy I was mad about that at the time. But now, it’s just added to the history. Inside the jacket cover in my mother’s practically perfect in every way handwriting are my name, 5 Maple Ave. and phone, 325-9211. The book came to me as a birthday or Christmas present in 1966. It’s a first edition, and through the care of my mother who boxed it when I flew from the nest for college and beyond, it survived.

I joined a gym.