The first trip I ever took was at four years of age, on foot, alone. It took a long time for them to realize I was gone, but this was the fifties when kids were put out like laundry, tossed about by the wind, then brought in again. Like any journey, it began with the first step, but after that I had to wing it. My arithmetic skills were simply not up to the task. Instead, I concentrated on my feet marching along the sidewalk in black Maryjanes. One. Two. Three. Four. I remember the trudge as if it happened yesterday. There was a busy intersection, broad as the mighty Mississippi, and a large grassy field with a playground. The jungle gym shimmered in the sun and I was tempted to stop at the swings. On
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