Mom's home-cooked noon dinner finished, portable radio on the Formica table, Dad reading The Des Moines Register, bib overalls and plaid shirt, leather lace-up shoes, Rockford socks. Lee Kline on WHO Radio's noon farm show, news and weather and the farm markets, Mom's white Youngstown kitchen cupboards, sights and sounds of my childhood, my teenage years. That radio, Dad's spot at the table, where often he'd make his own childhood dessert, bread crumbled in a glass of milk, eaten with a spoon. Then, folded arms on the table, cradling his weary head, a power nap before heading out for farmwork, fortified by Mom's home cooking and farm news from that portable radio.