by Ann Hinds

Created on: March 11, 2009   Last Updated: October 14, 2009

I miss my childhood. I miss the freedom to roam the streets with my friends or to ride bikes where we did not have to worry about safety. I miss "Cardboard Hill" where we took tons of boxes and tore them apart to make sleds. What a great ride it was from the top of the hill to the ditch at the bottom. I miss the kids on my street and every street in our neighborhood. I miss riding my bike to the school.

We lived in a small development of houses that until I went to high school, stood alone, surrounded by hills. There was an orange grove across the street. All of us were about the same age so not only did we play together; we also went to the same school and were in the same classes. We could walk into any house at any time. Our parents all knew each other.

I miss Ruthie. She was my very best friend. Our families moved into the new houses when we were three. We were always together. We started school together and it was great because we were in the same Kindergarten class. We went to the same church. We went to Sunday school in the mornings and Training Union at night. Wednesday evening, we would all get together for a sing. We loved to sing. As we got older, all the kids would do group activities. We went roller skating and miniature golfing. There was a place that had trampolines built into the ground. It was a favorite place to go.

We got into trouble together. Do you know how much fun hair clippers can be? We gathered all the kids to play barber and gave Jackpot a cut that would rival any punk hairdo of today. Yes, his name was Jackpot.

We shared secrets and had plans for when we would grow up. We did not ever see a time where we would not be best friends. Our lives were carefree and we were never aware of the clouds swirling around us. We were not so sheltered that we did not know that it was the beginning of the civil rights movement. It just did not affect our small isolated community. We continued to ride our bikes and play house and run the streets. Like many communities, we came home when the streetlights came on.

Ruthie's family moved closer to Los Angeles, when we started high school. Our parents would take turns delivering us to each other's house. When we were not being shuttled, we wrote letters. We still shared everything even if it was slightly long distance.

Ruthie died when we were 15. She was petting the dog next to the fireplace and her nightgown caught on fire. She lived two weeks in unbearable pain. My mother would drive me to Los Angeles everyday so we could visit. We continued to plan for when she would get better. We had so many plans.

It was not until I was quite a bit older that I discovered why her family moved. It was such a stupid reason and although I understand it, I will never forgive them for taking her away from me. They were afraid. They were Black and passing for White. They were afraid that someone would find out and ostracize them. It would not have mattered to me and yet I know that there were people who would have made it difficult.

Yes, I miss my carefree childhood. I had great parents who made it the best place to be. I miss the loss of innocence that life forced into my world. And most of all, I miss Ruthie.

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