Some of my earliest childhood memories are from when I was 4 years old. I think, for a brief time, we lived in the Projects but my mom’s best friend also lived there, so we spent a lot of time there and my memories aren’t clear. As a kid, it felt like any other neighborhood but better! The things I remember most are my gang of friends, the ice cream truck, the building that played free movies for us, the playground, and bees.
Our gang consisted of at least ten kids, often more. And as soon as we woke up, we’d meet at the playground. There was monkey bars, a huge metal slide, old-style swings, and a puke-a-lator. Ironically, you’d see none of these things on a playground today for safety reasons, of course. (Gen Xer’s rock!) We’d also play Red Rover, Trench (Dodgeball), Kick the Can, and so many more. There was never enough time in the day.
Every now and then we’d hear that special bell ringing. The ice cream truck would slowly drive up and down the streets of the Projects, ringing the bell, like a beacon calling us home. There weren’t a lot of amenities in the Projects but that little truck sure felt like one of them. I wish I could remember the “man behind the wheel” or the “scooper of the cream” as we sometimes called him. Because he put smiles on the faces of more kids than Santa Claus, and I know there were times when some of us didn’t have money, but all of us walked away with a big, fat, two-scoop, ice cream cone, every single time.
Across the playground was a building where they played free movies. Remembering now, I think they were just cartoons, but it seemed like a big deal back then. Sometimes one of our moms would make popcorn but that was always eaten before the movie started. It was before one of these movies that I got stung by a bee. I think I remember swatting it to the ground and stepping on it. I know I was screaming. It may have won the battle, but I won the war. Until I didn’t – because I don’t remember anything at all after that. It turns out I’m allergic to bee stings. Fierce, mighty, resilient little beasts.
Until recently, I had forgotten those years entirely. The Projects were low-income housing for families -a small neighborhood shaped by many cultures living side by side. I don’t remember that part as clearly as I remember wishing I had Michelle’s long, beautiful brown hair, or wishing I could run as fast as Jo. I know I never once looked for a reason we shouldn’t be friends or play together.
Because the truth most adults come to learn is that children do not see difference the way they are later taught to see it. Our natural state is connection. Division, separation, racism – the idea of “us” and “them” – is something learned over time, not something we are born carrying. Children see the smile before the skin color, the heart before the history. They live honestly, openly, and without pretense.
I hope each of you carries childhood memories like mine – the raw, honest ones from before the world told you who to be. If you do, hold them close and protect them, so nothing can harden what was once open and full of light. Those memories, and the ones that follow, ask something of us. They call us to be better, kinder, and to show up. We owe that to our children. You don’t have to do everything, but you can do something. Because the lines dividing us that some of ignore and step over, should’ve never been drawn in the first place.
Welcome to the hive. tls.
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