Growing up, I always loved hearing stories from my parents about what life was like for them. Learning how they walked uphill both ways, in the snow getting to and from school. (I don’t actually doubt this as it was Western PA.) How my dad sprained his ankle playing basketball in his flimsy Converse high tops. How my mom found herself on the homecoming court. The names of their friends did, and still do make me chuckle. There is just a magical quality to me of knowing where I come from. I feel like I have a more complete picture when I get to “experience” someone’s life through their stories. My brothers and I recently sat down and recorded an “interview” with our parents. There were tears and there was laughter. We had heard many of the stories before, but some were still new. And they still amaze me when I hear them and I realize how those stories have molded them into the people they are today. They are still some of the most committed and compassionate people I know. And it all started when they were high school sweethearts.