Remembering Oliver

I moved to Clifton last week, out of my parents’ home and into my first apartment, just in time for the dog days of summer. I moved with my family a couple of times over the years. Each time I move I find a trace of my childhood worthy of a chuckle or pa

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I moved to Clifton last week, out of my parents’ home and into my first apartment, just in time for the dog days of summer.

I moved with my family a couple of times over the years. Each time I move I find a trace of my childhood worthy of a chuckle or pang of nostalgia — a movie ticket from a first date, an old diary teeming with girly, juvenile discourse.

During my move to Clifton, I found an old picture album, warped from years of storage; it looked more like a neglected library book.

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