The house was a wood frame, two-story structure in need of repair. It sat on a road of dirt and gravel, and was part of a two or three block area in the South Hills of Pittsburgh known as “The Patch.” All of the houses on our street in The Patch were similar in construction and condition, and this is where I, along with my father, mother, “Busha” (Polish for “grandmother”), older brother, and sister, spent the first five years of my life.

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