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I grew up in the 1960s, mostly in a small town (pop. 682) in rural mid-Michigan. My three brothers and I all worked in our family business, a bar. I used to tell people it was a restaurant, but it was really a bar that served some food. I liked to read and write. I still do. For years I have held a story I have wanted to recount. I think you might enjoy taking the journey with me. The process of writing this story is keeping us siblings close as I check in with them about memories of the times and details and they're reminding me of things you might appreciate hearing about, like our neighbor across the road who took the detached heads of the fish he caught and nailed them up on the tree trunks in his front yard as proud trophies. Or did it mean something else?