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For some reason I am remembering some of the instances of my kid's childhood experiences. I thought I'd share a few of them with you just for kicks.

We lived in a rough neighborhood when my kids were little. Some creep tried to seduce them into their car with candy one day while they were playing in front of my grandmother's house (she lived next door to us). My son, who was about 8 years old at the time, grabbed his little sister by the arm and started running for home. He practically dragged her up the steps and into the house. When they told me what had happened, I thought they had been watching too much TV but I must have been living in denial. Even though it was typical for my kids to tell me about the daily fights that broke out on the bus, I didn't think the hood was that bad until the kid up the street was suspended for taking a gun to school. He was one of my son's best friends.

Then there was the time my son sliced his head open on the mailbox playing football in the street. (He caught the pass though!) While we were at the emergency room waiting to be sewn up, we met another of my son's friends who was having a bb removed from his hand. I think my son or Jamie shot him, but neither one would admit it.

I loved the Mexicans and the Puerto Ricans and the Africans on our street, and we looked after one another's young ens. It was some of the white folks I didn't care too much for-especially the ones who had more junk in their yard than the landfill down the street. Jamie, and his brother, Mickey, answered their mom in English when she spoke to them in Spanish. I thought that was kind of neat. We only understood half the conversation, but Mrs. Lopez could cook a meal like nobody's business and she brought goodies over to our house on a regular basis.

When we decided to sell our house and get out of there, the Lopez's put their house on the market too. We found houses in subdivisions close to one another so our kids could finish their multi-cultural raising without having to contend with the violence of living in the city.

It was after we left that neighborhood that I felt distant from my own kids. I had Kool-aid and cookies ready everyday as I had in the past. They were making new friends at school and in the neighborhood, but they weren't bringing them home for dinner the way they had before. Soon they were teenagers, driving on their own and going places without dear old mom. Then, boy friends and girl friends started taking up their time and I was left to feed the lizard, snake and other animals they had collected and forgotten about.

Now I have grandchildren that I spoil them every chance I get. I recently took my 6-year-old grandson to Nashville Shores Water Park. We rode every slide for which he was height-eligible. One slide was fashioned like a U-shaped skateboard ramp. At the top of the wall, he looked at me and said, "Are you scared, Von-Von?"

"Nah, this will be fun." My heart was in my throat and my legs were shaking as we climbed onto the 2-person inner tube.

"Whee!" We went straight down one side and nearly to the top of the other swooping back and forth until we finally stopped in the middle.

"Wow! That was fun, Von-Von. I'm glad you talked me into it.

"Me too!" I said as I pulled my swimsuit from my crack. "What a wedgie!"

Learn more about this author, Yvonne Perry.
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