Have you ever wondered what you were really like as a kid? We all have memories of random things from our childhood. I remember my very first girlfriend. Her name was Patty and we were nine-years old and living in Germany where our fathers were stationed in the Air Force. I don’t remember lots about Patty other than she had curly brown hair, and she visited me often when I had my tonsils out. I also remember the Cactus Bowling Alley in Tucson where I hung out many days after school with the janitor, Jessie, who would let me bowl free if I helped him clean the place up. Jessie was the first black man I befriended and it was in 1968 when most of America was still trying to figure out race relations. A 13-year old white boy and a 60-year old black man didn’t have a problem with it and we often shared French fries and a coke. Sometimes I bought with my allowance, but not often. I do remember things, but I don’t remember me. What was I like, and I mean really like? Not the memories your Grandma shared about how much you talked, or how you couldn’t sit still in church. What worried me? What did I want to be when I grew up? What was I really like? Well, yesterday I found out. On a pile of rocks, 5-ton to be exact, in the front yard of my house in the middle of the afternoon, I met me. It’s true. Sitting right on top of that mountain was six-year old me and for 30-minutes we talked about all the things I must have been captured by 49-years ago. As 6-year old me and 54-year old me tossed the rocks from the pile into the garden we talked about baseball. I told me that when I was six we didn’t have T-Ball like they do today, we started with the real game. Then 6-year old me said he thought T-Ball was ok and we must have been brave to start with a real baseball. Our visit moved to spiders and we took turns holding a daddy long-legs or two then moved on to how you would never long-kiss your Mom and in fact you would never long-kiss anyone until you’re 30! Then we shared how we both had seen with our own eyes how Moms can hear things all the way across the yard even when you’re whispering. And it’s usually when you say bad things. I asked 6-year old me what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said, “Like when I’m in 5th grade?” On and on we went, never quiet for long, and then it was time to finish and head our separate ways. “Poppi”, Ethan said as we climbed off the rocks, both covered with dust and dirt, “that was fun.” Yes it was little me, it was great fun. Thanks for sitting on the rocks with your Poppi and reminding me what it was like to be me when I was six. And please don’t let me go so long with coming back for a visit. Who knew there was much wisdom in a pile of rocks, and in a six-year old.