Last week, I took Mom and Dad on a tour of our old houses – we visited three of the four I had lived in as a child and a young adult. This one – in Fall River – is the one we were in longest: I was 2 when we moved in and 17 when we moved out. It seemed so much smaller than I remembered! So many memories . . . the front staircase (eight steps, just as I remembered), the long, sloping driveway we used to roller-skate down, the chestnut tree in the neighbor’s yard, the bay windows in the front rooms, the bright yellow kitchen, the flat roof we used to sunbathe on (illegally!), all the tumbled-together rag bag of a full and happy childhood. Such a strange sense of longing and peace, standing across the street and looking at the home that once was ours.