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The first cracks in the structure that comprised my childhood came when I was fifteen, a rather naive late bloomer. Gail and I were at at summer camp at Innisfil with my mother and Uncle George.
By chance I overheard a conversation that wasn't to be heard by my ears nor in the light of day. It was about married Uncle George and the floor fell out below me. I loved him so much I have never shared it with a living soul, even after his plane crashed so long ago. All childhoods come to an end. This conversation seemed at least at the time to end mine.

Perhaps that secret about what I overheard is in part, an attempt to keep a wee bit of childhood when the world seems more magical......or have I got it all turned around again.

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