Ryan and Kaitlyn did karate. I was the odd child, dark (both emotionally and physically) and artistic. I’m just like my Dad. He would take me a little ways out of Brockton to a dairy farm. People would always be there in the summer, but we always went in the fall. Carefully stepping over crumpled leaves, the aroma of the animals always shocked me. I would ignore any thought of getting fresh ice cream and run to the stables. You could do that. They had a few gates, but there was cows galore. You could stay with the cows whist you waited for your treat. The cows always ate my hair and I’d yelp in excitment. Dad would come in and laugh, help me out and give me my oreo ice cream. We would sit on the grassy acre and eat and laugh. When it was time to get Ryan and Kaitlyn from karate, I’d say one final good-bye, until next time, I would promise. So me and my Dad, hand in hand, left the closest thing I ever got to the country.