A sunny winter day in peaceful suburban Philadelphia.
I'm shooting marbles on the dining room floor with Victor Bean's kid sister, Carol. Dad is minding us while mom attends one of her neighborhood Republican Committee meetings. He sits in the living room listening to the Grundig floor model radio. We don't pay much attention to anything but our game.
My mother is not the kind of woman who bursts into a room, but today she bursts into the house.
"Did you hear?" she said.
"Yes" and the tone of Dad's voice is my first clue that something is wrong. Something serious. I feel an electric tension in the air. Words from their conversation slam into my consciousness:
MY GOD, IT'S WAR.
Seized by a torrent of dramatic mental images, I suddenly have the insecure feeling that my whole nine -year old world is changed. In breathless fear I ask:
"Will they come over here?"