Worry; the signature of caring . . .
My sister and I began our lives in Kansas City. We lived in a nice suburban neighborhood where the space between houses could be stepped off; heel-toe, heel-toe and everyone had a chain-link fence surrounding their back yard. This was the 1960’s when a kid’s bike was their favorite mode of transportation. A bicycle represented freedom as we pedaled and glided up and down streets with the wind rushing in our faces and nowhere to be until the streetlight came on at dusk.

