Forty-three years seems a long time to remember the name of a mere acquaintance. I have duly forgotten the name of the old lady who was a customer on my paper route when I delivered papers back in 1954. Yet, it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I hope I can pass on to someone else someday.
On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady’s house from a secluded spot in her back yard. The object of our play was to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled to the roof edge and shot out into the yard like comets falling from the sky.
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