It was 1962, Wichita, Kansas. My Dad surveyed the front yard—a very big front yard, a grim look on his face. "Weeds," he pronounced sullenly, as if our front yard had become the equivalent of a ... [+]
You are my favorite cousin, and as this is the worst day of my life, you are the only person I can talk to about it. I've been missing you, ever since the vacation at Gran and Grandad's over the ... [+]