These past few days my thoughts have been turned to the neighborhoods of my childhood. I think this may have something to do with our next door neighbor asking for spare change as I was herding the kids out of the car and into the house the other afternoon. My initial response...
WE ARE SO MOVING!!! But then pictures like this remind me of friends like Pat and Helen in apartment B just down from these stairs, and Brianne and Richard across the street, and the hours and hours of handball we played in our little alley next to the big green dumpster, and the bricks with an occasional black widow where we'd stash our flip flops, and the smells of every one's dinners (some better than others!...oh, do you remember some of the wretched smells?!), and our Charlie Brown Christmas trees, and the rock kicking contests we'd have as we all shuffled off together to school...... and my brothers and sister and I all sharing one bedroom. And I wouldn't have had it any other way. But there was a lot we didn't see, a lot that kids just don't see. Like the day I found a used syringe in our driveway and thinking it looked like great fun. Like the private prayers and tears that were being offered up by parents that their children would be protected from harm and that someday they might have a home to call their own. We moved from this apartment when I was ten years old. Their prayers were answered and my mom and dad had the opportunity to build a home. They hammered every nail. This miracle of an opportunity made it easier for us not to notice the graffiti that, over the years, always adorned our mailbox. We didn't so much hear the cock fighting going on in the streets...the mariachi bands...those parties can get pumpin'!...they, I'll admit, were a little tougher to ignore. My brothers and sister and I were the only white kids on the school bus, but we didn't really see it until they started making fun of us. Meanies. My parents sold that house shortly after I was married. They moved hours away from all those memories. When I visit now and drive through the neighborhood, all I see are giant wrought iron fences and barred windows. I don't see my home. I'm so glad home gets to move with us...and yeah, we may have some questionable neighbors, but I'm happy to be home...and I will keep saying my prayers! :)
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