Third grade. Apples to Apples. I know those words spark vivid memories for some of my peers. Most likely these memories invoke an image of a packed table of rowdy nine and ten year olds, hungry for victory and louder than a cacophony of crows. Maybe in those memories there are hushes and other signs of irritation from every adult within a 30 mile radius or teachers telling you that that game is no longer allowed at lunchtime, but for me those memories include a community, people that shaped who I was, and a damn good time.