Thrown together…….
Because my parents had formed a little clique with 3 other couples, my first friend was the only one near my age–the Bryant’s youngest daughter, Cathy, who was some months younger. There was no ‘puppy love’ here–just two kids knocking around, playing with toys or running in the field. I don’t really remember much about our relationship—I see her on my father’s old home movies, but it draws a blank. She was a sea of long silver hair, descending like tamed Christmas tinsel. My mother used to tell a story that she wore saddle shoes, and when mom saw a collection of bruises and welts on my legs, I told her Cathy kicked me every time we disagreed. “So kick her back!” And so it came to pass. Cathy must have howled in abject agony, ‘cause her mother was at our door in seconds. However, once she saw my discolored calves, innocent Cathy received her comeuppance. I am also happy to report that the damage her shoes inflicted on me did not stop me from dating a cheerleader in high school.
Our playmate was her small poodle, Nickki. She was a real joy, always wiggling her little stub tail I remember this dog running around the yard, taking corners so sharp it looked like she was running on two legs. We would try to chase her and grab her, but she was too smart and too fast. Eventually, all three of us would be lying down, panting.
My first male friend was Jeff, across the street. Being a boy, he was more willing to run into the field looking for fun and chase the unknown. No ball games, not enough boys. No playing in the street–why bother, when you had a huge field?
Dan lived next to Jeff. He turned out to be a royal asshole, who loved to cause trouble and step back to watch things boil.
In retrospect, there were other slightly older boys on our street, but they were going to different schools. Two were one year older, but they always played by themselves. The one time they tried to force their dominance on us, Jeff’s older brother gave both a taste of real dominance.
In the field, you never knew who you’d run into–strangers from other areas who rode their bikes to the promised land of wide open spaces. You’d play all day and not even see their faces again.
By third grade, I think at least five families on the block were gone, including two of my parents’ friends, two older girls that babysat me, and Jeff. Dan’s mother died and his behavior got more twisted. After his bizarre story about how my accidental bike collision with a little girl was causing cancer, the girl’s father confronted Dan’s father. Coincidence or not, they were gone in months.
In what became a pattern, the friends that moved away were removed from our lives. My father wanted no parts of anyone who left (presumably to a better house).