"I was actually apprehended three times by police."

On April 24th 1998 I had to interview a family member for my junior high Family History class, and I chose my paternal grandma. My dad and I sat on the floor in the front room of Grandma's little pink house in Provo, while she sat on her couch.

I asked the questions I had written out, and it took about a half hour. My dad checked the tape, to make sure it was recording correctly. Something had happened, and the tape hadn't caught any of the interview. We turned the tape recorder on again and instead just sat and chatted.
I got an A on the assignment and gave the tape to my dad. He transposed it to CD and gave me a copy.

This month it will be five years since my grandma died in that same front room of that little pink house. (The same front room of that little pink house she was born in, actually.)

This afternoon I was cleaning out boxes in my closet and found the CD. I popped it in and hit play, thinking it would be something fun to listen to while cleaning.

I only made it about six minutes in, when my dad said, "Mom, why don't you tell Susannah about the times I was arrested?" and my grandma busts up laughing, until I started crying.