After mass today at St. Scholastica Parish in Detroit, we drove by the house that we all grew up in. I had prepared myself that it might not look very good. To our surprise, it was in pretty good shape. My mom would be very happy to see that someone has taken very good care of "her" house. That was her home where she raised her babies and she loved it.
(I really wanted to go up to the front door but Bob and the boys wouldn't hear of it.) They said I might get shot. What's that all about?
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