Campus Years

At its best, my childhood looked like Jean Sheperd's "A Christmas Story" with me as Ralphie.  I wanted the BB gun too, but also my school, the coal furnace, the front yard, clothes and snow suits… my life really looked like this.    Until I was ten we lived in Ann Arbor, the college town.  More than half of the time we lived at the campus.  

This is the late 40s in America.  Earth tones clothes, furniture and walls.  One telephone in the house, one electric plug per room.  Plastic was exotic.  No such thing as TV.  Behind our house was a lady who had about 30 cats.

Ann Arbor, Michigan, corner of State & Huron. In the picture, that’s it.  Dad’s Grace Bible is the ivy-covered stone building.  Our house, the parsonage, just next to the church.  Both buildings are now offices of an architectural firm.  My back yard of grass, clothes lines and rhubarb is now a parking lot .

   

This old native stone building was my playground, especially the tower.  Across the street in my time was Ann Arbor high school.

Where's Barry?

Had a crush in highschool on a girl named Barry.   Mush have been my junior or senior year.  New girl in town.  Year younger than me.  And possessed of the kind of southern accent that can still poke a finger in my brain.  Wonderful.  Her voice alone just made me so happy and weak and stupid. 

Called her on a grocery store work break one weekend morning from the pay phone in the drug store on the corner.  When she answered with that fabulous, judgment-damaging accent, I said a lot of nice things from my heart -- nothing salacious, but, you know, personal, sweet and one hoped endearing.  Went on for a bit.

Then she said, 'that's very nice, but this is Barry's mother.'  Kind of thing you never forget.

I wonder where Barry is.