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The year was 1970 when Misty was born. The children in our family ranged in age from sixteen down to two and a half. There were seven boys and one girl. We lived in a two-story house, with a very large yard. The back porch (or hall as we called it) was enclosed, with a window looking out over the yard. Our first and oldest child was Steve. He was sixteen. Second was Larry, who was fifteen. Third was Alan, who was fourteen. Next in line, the fourth child (and only daughter) was Annette. She was thirteen years old. Fifth in line was David, who was nine years old at the time. Sixth in line was Kelly. He was close to his seventh birthday. Seventh in line was Todd, and he was close to his sixth birthday. (Their birthdays were in April, same time we got Misty.)Then the eighth child, and youngest, was Rick. He was two and a half years old at the time. Dad worked at his job at the V. A. Hospital, and I (Mom) was a full-time homemaker The children were all close in age and we were a very close-knit family. We cared about and helped each other. We did things together. Two of the older boys, Larry and Alan, were constantly into projects. What one wouldn’t think of to do, the other one would. The last, and smallest family member was a white and black cat. (He had been rescued from an animal trap) He had several names by our family. One was “Pickles” (because he was always being rescued) another was “Puddy”, some just preferred “cat”.He didn’t care. As long as he was petted and loved and fed.

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