Barbara B. Dunphey
If I count correctly, my cousin Michael and I were sixteen years apart. We didn’t really see each other often or have much in common with a such an age difference; not to mention that I grew up in Baltimore. But I do carry a memory of him in my heart.
I was on the brink of turning maybe 9 or 10 years old. It was an early school morning and I recall being at the kitchen table when a commotion broke loose. Parked on the corner of our block sat a sleek convertible. Stepping from the car appeared a well-groomed man with a HUGE SMILE. The man turned out to be my cousin Michael. That morning he escorted my brother and I to school in that magnificent car, then later picked us up. I was the coolest kid at school that morning; and at the end of the day road home with wind in my hair.
