"Kurt Rheinheimer's gift in this book is to find tiny, ephemeral pieces of boyhood—the sun on a neighbor's '53 Buick, a small cabin by a creek in the mountains—and then have that setting entered into by characters who are equal in their gentle and precise detail. The mother—'dressed as delicate as the spring itself'—and the father—'impatient standing by the car, his breath in little visible puffs'—carry the stories, always seen through the young, observant eye of the narrator, who is able to at one time maintain the naiveté of his age and at the same time infuse perspectives of a much-older self. These are coming-of-age stories in the best sense, of a boy realizing, one by one, that those he loves are real people."
—Linda B. Swanson-Davies
"Kurt Rheinheimer's gift in this book is to find tiny, ephemeral pieces of boyhood—the sun on a neighbor's '53 Buick, a small cabin by a creek in the mountains—and then have that setting entered into by characters who are equal in their gentle and precise detail. The mother—'dressed as delicate as the spring itself'—and the father—'impatient standing by the car, his breath in little visible puffs'—carry the stories, always seen through the young, observant eye of the narrator, who is able to at one time maintain the naiveté of his age and at the same time infuse perspectives of a much-older self. These are coming-of-age stories in the best sense, of a boy realizing, one by one, that those he loves are real people."
—Linda B. Swanson-Davies
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