Here’s little old me, July 1978. Having breakfast at Papa Bob’s house. I know it was July 1978 because of the nice red gash down my nose. I fell the day my little sister was born and nearly ripped off my nose–or so my mother thought. I can’t count the number of meals that I ate sitting in that chair. Papa sat on my left. Grandma sat on my right. Nearly every Sunday lunch from the time I was big enough to eat anything until my teenage years was spent in this spot.