I grew up in a southern city, in a neighborhood that was very stable with infrequent turnover in home ownership. Rarely did we have new residents in our community. Most of the people owned their homes, I honestly can't recall any nearby properties as being rental. Everyone knew everyone else and their personal business. It was that type of residential environment; a true neighborhood where all were indeed just as the name implies: neighbors.
What's unique about my experience is that for a conservative Southern metropolitan center, especially for the era, it was a truly diverse community. My family's next-door-neighbors were an African-American family. They had a son, four months and a few days my junior. A live, built-in playmate. Needless to say, we grew up being close friends. Almost as though we were "joined-at-the-hip." Virtual twins except that we came from two different families and belonged to two separate faith communities. However, just as our homes were side-by-side, so were our churches. The houses of worship were exactly one city-block apart.
My friend, I'll call "JA" (I'm sure you understand confidentiality) and I were best friends from our early days sharing front porch moments all through high school and beyond. Classmates, playmates, team-mates on our little league and recreation league sports teams, study mates and later, when in our teens, partners in adolescent pranks and illegal drinking buddies. More often than not, if one of us was in trouble, the other suffered the same fate.
I'm introducing JA to you, the readers, now. As I continue to publish this online journal, I'll write more about our experiences together as we grew up. For your information, he's currently living out on the West Coast. We're still close friends after all these years. Trouble? Just give us a couple of beers to share on a Saturday night and you be the judge!
Respectfully,
Black Lover Naked
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