We had an area of our yard at the side of our house that was for me to build huts and other things. There were lots of old boards as well as broken radio equipment Dad had put there. Over the years it had been the scene of underground huts, wooden towers, pretend space capsules, as well as deep holes. In fact, we called it, “The Hole.” When Christopher was two, I had built a neat hut with a wooden floor, wooden walls, and a roof. (Other huts I had built didn’t have quite all those features.) The hut had some radio equipment in it and it even had a radio operator’s microphone. Christopher and I would play for hours in that hut. We pretended that our station number was CZ6 and it was heartening to hear Christopher, who could barely talk, holding the microphone to his mouth and saying, “C-Z-6. C-Z-6.” Those were crisp fall afternoons and Christopher wore a little blue furry coat with a hood. The image I have in my memory of him and I playing together in that hut will always be with me.
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