The house was not really a house, but a dream his father had. It was Clay’s dream to build a house with his own hands, a house his wife and children could see being constructed, a house that would give strength and love to their lives because they would see the strength and love with which it was built. “I can see it now, a white house with green shutters on the windows. Your mama sitten up there on the front porch resten of a Sunday. Your mama will plant flowers down the walk on either side and I’ll put in a bed of grass where my babies can play.”
