When I was nine or ten years old I couldn't wait for Saturdays. I got up early, dressed, and rolled my bicycle out of the garage. SO BEGINS AUTHOR Lester Laminack's poetic memory of the adult who made him feel incredibly special--his grandmother. Every Saturday, the narrator, a young boy, rides his bicycle up and down country roads past farms, a graveyard, and a filling station, until he reaches his beloved...
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