Densmore Avenue North

I grew up in a working-class suburb just north of Seattle, a mile from the prestigious Lakeside School, where my contemporary, Bill Gates, would birth an empire.

I lived in a house on Densmore Avenue North. It was very small house; two bedrooms, one bathroom, with a small bedroom in the unfinished basement. My parents paid $14,000 for the house in 1962. I know because I have the deed. My mother always said she told my father she didn’t like the house. But he did, so she gave in. Those were her words. She gave in.

It was a dark house, cut into the side of a small incline, just a block from my elementary school. There was a big picture window at the back of the living room that looked out onto an expansive backyard. The yard seemed so big to me then. It was the outer edge of my world. I had no real concept of what lay beyond.

On sunny mornings when the grass was still dewed, with my head just above the sill, I watched fat blue robins with their magnificent red breasts cock their head to the ground, then dart and pull a worm. It was early. I was up, my brother was up, both bursting with that anticipation of all good things to come.

My dad had long since left for work. My mother was still in bed. We’d go in periodically and poke at her, or just stand next to the bed staring until she opened her eyes and looked into ours. It seemed…