Looking back, I had no way of knowing the duplex on Michelle Drive my mother found for us would be my home for the next 7 years, the longest period of time we'd stayed at any address. This period in my life would far surpass the others in the changes that overtook me, the growth I experienced, the freedom I gained and the innocence I lost.

At 13, all I saw were steps backwards and the life I'd hoped for reduced to a fantasy of what might have been. Adding to my distress was the embarrassment of being transferred from a Junior High to a K through 8, from an almost freshman to an overage gradeschooler. I was conscious of growing older, and like most kids at that age I wanted to be considered at the very least an adult in the making.

So here I was, sharing once again a room with Bob and a school with babies learning the alphabet. I was so offended by our new home that I refused to drink the tap water, as if the same water mains that fed North Highlands were contaminated once they branched off to Arden Arcade, our new neighborhood.

Actually, our new home wasn't that much of a downgrade. The room Bob and I shared was at least as big as the one we shared back in the Rio Linda days, and Bob had a garage for all his electronics stuff. Both the living room and kitchen were large. The kitchen — almost square with a door leading to the garage and our washer and dryer — was spacious enough to support a kitchen table, a stove and a refrigerator, with plenty of room to comfortably move about.

The ceilings were lower, but in general the place was every bit as cheerful and sunny as Betty Cooper's. The backyard was about half the size of the previous one, but still large enough to give us more privacy than we would ever need.

My mother took the small bedroom room off to the side of the hallway leading to master bedroom Bob and I shared, and she seemed content with it. And if I had any concerns about Bob running my life, they were unfounded. Bob, by now, was a junior at Sac State, was dating Sally and working as always at the supermarket in North Highlands. I rarely saw him even climb into his bed that summer of 1964. I was every bit the latchkey kid I always was.