Looking through Dad's house last week, I found a few magnifying lenses in his dresser drawer and passed them by in my search for mementoes to keep and pass down to my sons. Awake at two the next morning, as per usual in these early weeks of grieving my father's passing, I saw those magnifying glasses in my imagination. Only, they weren't in a drawer in Barrie, they were in my (and my brother's) hands at Port Credit, Ontario. It was the late 1960s, I was eight years old, and we were starting newspapers on fire by focusing the rays of the summer sun. When I imagined the whiff of smoke and the triumphant moment when an orangle flame began licking the Port Credit Weekly, I knew what I needed to do on today's return to my boyhood home: claim those magnifying glasses. In the name of boyhood, summer, Grandma Wilson's house, and my dad.