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Oh to be a kid again...

I wished my days away.   As a knobby-kneed kid living on the eastside of Birmingham, I spent my childhood daydreaming in our modest two-bedroom home that sat in the breezy shadows of tall, gloomy steel mills. My sister, brother and I would play outside on our long, gravel driveway, gliding our bare feet through the sea of rocks and then digging our toes down into the cool earth while staring up to study the clouds. “Is that a face I see?” “Or a boat?” Inside the house, mama would be reading the Bible and daddy listening to Anita Baker croon on the radio while a spaghetti dinner simmered on the stove.  Us kids would stay outside and play until day melted into night. Once the streetlights clicked on, we would run inside, inhale dinner and then wash off the Alabama dust in a bubble bath of Palmolive dishwashing detergent. Then, we'd fall asleep on fresh cotton Mickey Mouse sheets while dreaming about racing our bikes.  I didn’t know how heaven

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