Rebuilt by my parents in 1984, the house on Music Street has been in my family for well over a century. Our children, who grew up in London, derived their earliest conception of America from our August visits to their grandparents' house. Mornings in the sunny Children's Room at the Library and at the Music Street Playground, afternoons in the sun and surf of the south shore, evenings in the backyard playing wiffleball with extended family while the radio broadcast of the Red Sox game played in the background. Afterward, a barbecue, much talk and laughter amongst the adults, children playing tag or hide-and-seek in the dusk and then dark, the final innings of the Sox game, bedtime stories, and ultimately a dog-tired sleep the depth of which is suggested by our family term for it as "lead pipe". This was the general course of every American Summer day. Reference should be made as well, however, to frequent walks to Alley's General Store, sometimes for necessities but more often for "grandpa treats", to shopping twice a week at the Farmer's Market, and, for four nights in August, attending the Dukes County Fair just down the street. Trips to Menemsha for drinks at sunset, to Vineyard Haven or Edgartown to shop, and to Oak Bluffs for ice cream and to ride the Flying Horses. These are the idyllic childhood memories that our children share and that set a standard subsequently impossible for the rest of America to meet.