21 Frear Ave

We moved in the summer before I was to start 3rd grade.  I had a little time to get used to the new house on Frear Ave and the new neighborhood before school started.  Frear Ave was a small, dead-end street.  The houses numbered 1 (our house) to 22 ( the Callahans) then there were woods beyond 22.  Actually there were two houses beyond the Callahan's on the same side of the street: the Harts and the O'Riellys but you couldn't see them unless you went down into the woods a bit, so I don't really count them. 

Almost every house on the street had children.  They would gather in the center of the road and play kickball or wiffleball.  I first met the majority of them when they noticed me watching a game and asked if I wanted to play.  I couldn't look too eager, but, well, yeah, of course I wanted to play so I trotted on over.  The games were very organized--with teams, bases, outs, runs--and I don't recall anyone ever fighting or even being unkind.  It was a dream come true for me--unlimited friends.  Nice friends.  I do believe it was all that made my years on Frear Ave. tolerable because this time period was the absolute craziest Dad ever was.  And I don't mean crazy,fun, I mean crazy, insane.

My very first friend--solo friend, outside of the street games--was Karen.  She was two years older than me, smart, funny, nice, and more interesting than any child I had ever known.  She was wise well beyond her years--always.  I was in awe of her.  Shortly after becoming friends we decided we would build a fort in the woods behind her house--did I mention she was tough too? (she lived in #21, the last house on my side of the street).  We gathered wood.  I believe that's as far as it got.  We continued to talk about it for quite a while.  She was best friends with Tricia Callahan (the last house on the other side of the street).  One day after the three of us were finished playing at Tricia's (she had the coolest playhouse behind her house--it was a real, tiny house that her dad built), we walked across the street to Karen's house.  I hadn't met her family yet.  As we were leaving to go out again, her younger sister Kim asked to come with us and Karen and Tricia told her no.  She began to cry.  We left and they said she was a 'cry baby' and to ignore her.  I don't remember if I went back right then or later but that was it.  She became my best friend.  We were so alike in our emotions--both so very sensitive (I was called cry baby by my siblings quite often as well), but so different in personality.

Kim was quiet and shy.  I was outgoing and sometimes a bit overbearing.  She was honest and I had learned to lie to stay alive.  She never understood any reason for lying--it drove me crazy because she would tell Dad the truth about things I previously lied about.  But I admired her for it.  She got me into some trouble at times but I knew she couldn't help it.  I think we balanced each other out well.

As much as Kim and I were opposites, her family and mine were just as much so.  She had a loving mother who often said "I love you"--I never heard those words, they were for sissies.  Her mother and step-father would stop what they were doing at any given moment and hug each other--real, loving, embraces that made me a bit uncomfortable because I never witnessed anything like it. The closest I ever experienced to that was a hug good-night that I would force upon my standoffish family members.  They hated it and I knew it but I needed it just the same.  Kim's mom would hug me.  Without being forced to--just because she liked me.  It was a beautiful feeling.  It was a beautiful home.

At our house food had to be spicy, sour, or just taste bad to be acceptable.  For instance, we never used mayonnaise or ketchup--sissy stuff.  Our condiments were hot mustard or horseradish.  Liver, sardines, melba toast, and gefilte fish are some memorable foods that were plentiful in our home.  Even ice cream couldn't be plain, it had to be pistachio or rocky road--I loved just plain strawberry or coffee but no, that wouldn't do--too plain, it must be for sissies too.  Kim's house--soft, white bread, sandwiches with mayo, hot dogs with ketchup, neopolitan ice cream.  I loved to eat there.  No one cared how much or little I ate, or if I scraped my fork on my teeth (that was an instant backhand from Dad if he heard it), or if I spoke.  There was no tension, ever, in their home.  I loved going there and it's no surprise that I spent a good deal 1977 through 1982 there.  Kim and I grew from little girls to young teens together.  I had many other friends but Kim and her family were always the people I chose to be with whenever I had a choice.

I may be going out on a limb here but I think those years with them saved my life--a very strong current pushing me past all the rocks piling up from home.

Jen ;-)