Passing a construction site, yesterday, I parked my car alongside the roadway and watched for about half an hour while workmen methodically dismantled a building that had served, faithfully, for years as an elementary school. My gaze tracked a crack in the old sidewalk alongside what was left of the south wall, up the front steps, toward the side door, and wandered into fuzzy memories of Bobby pulling Paula’s hair in geography class and Freda kissing Bif on the playground near the swings. Both felonies, now, but at one time regarded as almost a rite of passage.