Childhood Memories for Later

I grew up in a town-home subsidized by the Franciscans. Jeff, his sister and mom were the only Americans living in our neighborhood (Writing helps refresh my memory - there was also a black couple next door and a few years before we moved out, a young boy and his mom moved into the neighborhood).

As long as I'm reminiscing, I will note a couple incidents to write about later. One day I came home and no one answered the door. So I tried the Pinkevich's house. No one was there either. I ended up coming to the black neighbor's house. The wife let me in and I waited in the living room while African spices filled the kitchen. Eventually, I learned to prop our window open with a rake that we kept in our little shed.

One Thanksgiving morning, I heard a knock on our door. I opened to find a box filled with pumpkin pie, a turkey and other November foods. I looked up to see one of my brother's teachers walking away from the door. She said something like, "Give that to your parents." I inadvertently knew this teacher. My brothers would always mention her name. I remember choosing her name to make a Thanksgiving card for her. At a certain lunch period, "the British lady" came looking for me. I then learned who she was.