It was 1957, and the summer of my sixth year. At the time, we lived in Vallejo, California and my mother worked a short distance away at Levi Strauss and Co. It was her job to make and attach the pockets on the name brand jeans. Simply, this meant that I stayed with my Aunt Maggie during the day until Mom came to pick me up in the late afternoon following work. Mom drove a green 1948 Studebaker Commander, and on our way to Aunt Maggie’s house, we’d listen to the radio and sing along with the likes of Doris Day (Que Sera Sera), Rosemary Clooney (Tenderly) and Patti Page (Tennessee Waltz). Aunt Maggie also had a radio in her living room, so Perry Como (Catch a Falling Star), Frank Sinatra (Fly Me to the Moon), and Pat Boone (Love Letters in the Sand) were always crooning in the background. It’s likely that my love for music had its roots in the Studebaker and Aunt Maggie’s living room.

When I first arrived in the early morning, Aunt Maggie would whisper for me to lay down on the sofa and rest until my cousins, Steve and Sherry woke up. It wasn’t too long before their bedroom door opened just a little, and they would peek through the tiny crack. Oh, how I loved them both.

As soon as the cousins had eaten their breakfast, we’d surround ourselves with a mountain of red books. Since neither of us could read yet, we’d spend our time thumbing through the pages and looking at all the pictures in The American Peoples Encyclopedia set, twenty delightful volumes in all.

Aunt Maggie would give us each a small jar with pennies in it for candy. The red and white candy truck made its daily trek through the winding streets of the neighborhood – we knew this because we were always watching for it. We’d run out to greet the candy man, and then step inside the back of the truck to choose our sweet treats; Sugar Babies, Bit O’ Honey, and Smarties. Occasionally, we’d entertain ourselves with red wax lips and candy cigarettes.

In the afternoon, we’d play happily with pans and spoons in the dirt, until Aunt Maggie called us to come in the house and get cleaned up to take a nap.

At the end of the day, Mom picked me up in the Studebaker, and we talked and listened to the radio on the way home. Life was good.