During the last few years, I have wished more and more that I had written down all the stories my mom and dad told me when I was growing up.
No matter how hard I try to remember, some of those details have slipped away. But every now and then, something will jolt a memory – like the jolt you get when the rickety bus you’re riding in hits a pothole.
Two weeks ago, I had a chance to re-visit the story of how my parents met 60 years ago – on a bus bound for Fort Knox.
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