Thursday, June 17, 2010


After my grandfather had another stroke in '65, he was unable to work at all, and we couldn't afford to live in the house we were renting. So, in the spring of '66, we moved into public housing, Leavitt Homes to be exact...the Projects.
I hated it at first...we couldn't have pets, there was a grouchy old lady on the corner who'd keep your ball if it went into her yard, and we were always being reminded of how easily we could be kicked out if we acted up. After a while, it was okay- I learned to ride a bike there, there were woods nearly to play and hang out in, and lots of other kids, white, black, hispanic, and everyone had fun. I went to a new school, Chaleston, where you had to carry your lunch, rather than coming home to eat at noon, which was sorta cool. I liked that I could talk to my next door friend, Junior, through the razor blade slot in the medicine chest. We lived there for about a year, and we did get kicked out 'cause someone said we'd broken her far as I can remember, it didn't least, not THAT window.

No comments:

Post a Comment