You're listening to WALT.

Hoooaaaaaah!

Hoom!

Room!

Homemade Radio.

This one time I was at soccer practice.

And instead of making even the faintest attempt to kick the ball, I was doing what I always

did.

Squatting down and poking at the onion grass that grew in Cameron Run Park, I liked the way

it made my fingers smell.

And on this particular night, gleaming under the street lights, partially obscured by the

fragrant stems, I found something bizarre, a giant bullet.

In my memory, it was enormous, maybe four inches long, golden color, and heavy when I picked

it up and stared at it.

My coach shouted at me to stop sniffing my hands and protect the goalie, so I shoved

the bullet in the pocket of my shorts and I hustled towards the goal.

But I was so mystified by what I had just found that I didn't even hear the coach screaming

that I was running towards the wrong end of the field.

After practice, when I showed the bullet to my wide eyed parents, my dad got very quiet.

Give that to me, he said.

He walked across the living room to the mantle and stood the bullet up vertically next

to an old clock.

...