into his den one evening. He told me that he had talked to several of my teachers and Uncle Roy about my future education. All had agreed that a school with stronger discipline and better academics would be better suited for me. Therefore, no matter what the cost and because he knew Grandmother would agree, he was going to send me off to a New England boarding school named Bradford Hall. He would hear no objections and didn't care what I thought, the subject was closed, and I was going.
Devastated once again, I would miss my last year in grade school with my few friends. Although I thought that not playing baseball for my team was the worst thing that could happen to me, Grandfather would hear none of my protests. I spent my eighth though twelfth grades at Bradford Hall. In boarding school, I did play baseball again, but it was just for a different team and never with the same joy. Growing apart from the few friends I had in public school, I had even fewer mates at Bradford. But as I look back on it now, it was better than living with Grandfather in that old musty house.
That old home was a ghost from my past, full of people, yet empty of love. It was a house big in size but small in caring. But my most vivid memory of those times was of me as that little boy, having tea from room to room in that damp, dusty, cold and dark home known as Fairview Manor.
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