Kith & Kin

On Saturdays male college students left campus in abundance. Some went to the mall. Some went home. And some of us who needed cash went to work for the good folks in the local community. It was on one such Saturday that I found myself at Mrs. White’s, along with a fellow college student named Phil. We rode there in Phil’s rattle-trap car, parked, got out, slammed the doors, and walked to the front door of a rambling white house with dark blue shutters. Wisteria grew profusely on a trellis to the left of the door, draping it in purple, and a hulking magnolia tree grew on the right, fully in bloom and fragrant. Phil knocked, and when the door opened, a tiny former Southern Belle with completely white hair welcomed us. It was Mrs. White. She must have at least been in her seventies, and you could tell she had always been happy and honest of soul, two traits that had given her a grandmotherly glow from within. We stepped just inside the door, and she introduced us to her son, Plato (yes, “...

Early in the 1990s Cindy and I bought our first house. It was a homey little place that suited our growing family well. It was less than 1000 square feet, but it had a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and three bedrooms. I remember decorating the third bedroom in preparation for the arrival of our first baby girl. That was a new experience and a lot of fun! We lived, as we told everyone, “next to the farmers’ market on Rutherford.” The street was North Acres Drive, and it was shaped like a tennis racquet—one two-lane road that led both in and out with a loop of houses at the top. We lived in #2, the house you’re facing when you come to a stop at the top of the handle. As I cast my mind back over the few years we were there, I find a set of disjointed but mostly warm memories. . . . ·        One Father’s Day I came out of the bedroom and saw little Ben, probably three or four years old, eating his brown-sugar toast (cut up into bite-sized piec...