Lucy Burdette

When I was in sixth grade, we moved from New Jersey to Michigan which meant an unfamiliar school. My dad grew worried that the new teacher wasn’t stretching me enough, so he went in to speak with her. He came home and presented me with a dry (or so I remember) tome about the history of English royalty that I was to read in my spare time. He was a great history buff and whenever the family traveled (six of us and a couple German shepherd dogs), he planned stops at battlegrounds and cemeteries. All of this unfortunately caused my eyes to glaze over. The same thing happened in my high school history classes.