“Do you ever have memories that are not quite your own? Moments in the mind’s eye that feel so real, but have never been a part of your own past?” The house still stands on the hill and it is late winter but the air is strange and warm. Family gathers on the front porch — a wide, old, wrap-around porch — brothers, uncles, fathers, grandfathers, shadows strange in the harsh open glow of the old incandescent bulb screwed in as a porch light. Aluminum siding is cold and white,