Between the ages of six and nine, I was a native son of the marine bases of Cherry Point and Camp Lejeune in the eastern coastal regions of North Carolina. 
The Friday 56 is a weekly meme hosted by Freda's Voice. Check out the rules and join in the fun.Grab the book nearest you. Right now.
Turn to page 56.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post that sentence (plus one or two others if you like) along with these instructions on your blog or (if you do not have your own blog) in the comments section of this blog. Post a link along with your post back to this blog.
One Sunday after the community sing, a young Martin Luther King Jr. got up to preach a homily, and I heard the most electrifying speaker I had ever listened to. His voice was an instrument of an immense and subtle power. He spoke without notes, his voice botha spillage of honey and a quiet call to arms.
I'm vaguely aware of Conroy's books (The Great Santini, The Prince of Tides), but have never actually picked one up. In My Reading Life, Conroy tells his life story through his reading experiences as well as his relationships with other readers and writers. I think my un-enjoyment of this book came from the cavern of differences between Pat Conroy and I - sex, age, childhood, opinion about political correctness, etc. It was okay, but I'm probably not his target audience.
