I’ve been sharing stories with my daughter since she was a child. Before I retire for the night, I’d like to share two: When my daughter was around 2 or 3, I’d pick her up from daycare and we’d get on the bus home. Afrika liked to talk, cause her Momma used to talk her all the time – conversations. But on a bus home, well that’s another thing. So, we used to pass this house with old green shutters and I told her that was Mr. Greengrudge’s house and that he was cranky and didn’t really like children. (So, she’d be quiet) but…then I ended up having to create whole scenarios and descriptions of Mr. Greengrudge’s house. Bus would get quiet. And when we’d get on the bus again, first thing she’d say, “Mommy, there goes Mr. Greengrudge’s house.” Apologies to whoever owned that house. Then Mr. Greengrudge had to have conversations. This went on for quite awhile till we moved and caught another bus. Most recently, my daughter who is an artist gave me a wonderful gift. It was a painting of Mr. Greengrudge’s house. Children will remember. My daughter is 34 years old.