SUNDAY THOUGHTS: CHILDHOOD NEIGHBORHOOD

I woke up thinking about my childhood neighborhood. 

Although it's not far, I visited it via google maps. 

I scanned the street, and remembered how perfect it was for a game of kickball. With the intersection of Upsal Street and Horner Place, we had four perfect bases. 

Upsal Street hill was, and still is steep. 

I remembered how afraid I was of falling when the sidewalk would ice over in the winter. 

I don't recall any snow days. 

Snow was never a reason to close school. 

My big sister, Robyn would sit on her vinyl book bag and slide down the hill. 

Meanwhile I would still be at the top-- crying and trying to figure out how I would get down without killing myself. 

She'd think I was behind her, get to the bottom, turn around and yell, "Come on! Just slide down!" 

I would yell back "I'm scared!" and she would stomp back up the hill on the snow-covered easement. When she'd lose patience, she and another neighborhood kid or two, would grab me by each arm and run me down the hill. I'd scream all the way down, then spend the rest of the way to school contemplating how fun it actually was. 

Being late for school was not an option for Robyn. 

(I still wonder why she's not more athletic, but she does love to see other people participating in sports that involve running.) 

The white house, with the brick fireplace that I loved, is sort of powder blue now, the pine tree is gone, and tall bushes line the walkway from the gate to the front porch. There's no attic window anymore. 

The house seems so small now. 

I thought about Mommy's rose bushes in the back yard, and the porch where I'd sit for hours and draw pictures in my sketch pads. 

The neighborhood was integrated back then, and everyone knew everyone else. 

Miss Hazel Bates, an elderly, but spry white lady, lived in the big white house on the corner to the east of us. She shared the space with her dog and numerous cats. 

I thought about the Rodgers (Bernard, "Rog", Em, Darren, Darrell, and Tia), 

the Sheltons (Cardell and Kim), 

the Settles (Roy, Sr., Mary, Roy, Jr. Ann Kathleen, and David) 

the Wilson (Mom Wilson, Patsy, Dena, "Shamboy" and Sartorio), 

the Prides (Mr. and Mrs. Pride, Denise, Michael and Sandy), 

the Fryes (Mom Frye and Antionette), 

the Sultzers (William, Jean (Mommy's Avon lady) William Jr., David, and Tim, 

the Hemphills (Mr. Warren, Miss Mantalene, Essex, Tywana, Lois, Sandy and "Dimpy"), 

the Howards (Mom and Dad, Michael, Robin and David), 

the Arnetts, 

the Murphys, 

the Bradleys (Arthur, Eva, Vanessa, Ricky and Wanda), 

the Cuthberts (Mary and Lori), 

the Herrons (Dad, Larry, Reggie, Keith and Bonnie), the Shorts (Mom, Dad, Dexter and Pamela), 

and Thomas-Olivers (Carolyn, Joan and Sheila). 

Our neighborhood was full of families, homeowners, and role-models. 

All of the Wilson girls looked like they should have been on the runway of Ebony Fashion Fair. 

The Howard boys used to tease us because we had to go inside when the street lights came on. 

Who knew the man who would become a great poet, was writing at the northern end of Horner Place, and future basketball stars at Villanova were honing their skills at the southern end? 

I thought about little cousins Nkrumah and Marcy who lived in the apartment building behind us, across the alley. They'd get up early on Saturday mornings and march around the building singing at the top of their lungs, "I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart, hey! Down in my heart, hey! Down in my heart..." 

Their little voices would fade as they marched toward the back of the building. They were a sight.

I remembered how the Arnett's yard was always so beautifully landscaped. 

Our dog ate very well thanks to Miss Murphy. 

She'd phone and say, "I've got a pot of food for the dog", and one of us would go and get the big silver pot filled with everything from leftover roasts, cornbread, collards and chicken. 

There was a wooden, painted novelty sign hanging in her kitchen, "This food is not fit for human consumption". 

I always thought that was funny. 

God knows she cooked as if an army lived in their house.

I thought about how the Lord kept us as we rode our bikes from Upsal, to Horner to Wilmington, down First Street, back to South Capitol (to stop at High's for ice cream) and up what used to be Nichols Avenue. 

Fort Carroll Market, or Cassandra and Felicia's Grocery stores were the places to get Now and Later's and Rainblo Bubble Gum. 

The Good Humor Ice Cream truck would visit faithfully, and either park in front of our house or the Wilson's house. I still fancy a chocolate eclair every now and then. 

I noticed that one of, what I used to think was, the best kept homes on Upsal Street, is now for sale. 

It's at the bottom of the hill on the left side of where I used to be terrified with each winter's snow. I'd never been inside, and took a virtual tour through the rooms. 

This is one day that I wish I was independently wealthy. 

I'd buy it.