Honeysuckle-colored Glasses

Living on Jordan Valley road was amazing and picturesque as a kid, so I am nostalgic as I move out. Jordan Valley is located in south Dallas and was where I grew up. Looking back I have memories of a huge backyard, bike rides, and honeysuckle. However, I learned that to my parents it evokes memories of cock fights, SWAT teams, and gangs. Nostalgia almost seems like a fog over my memories, distorting them and making them appear different then they were. Isn't it strange how two people can have such different memories of the same thing?

In my neighborhood, big backyard cock fights would take place instead of imaginary plays. While I was riding my bike, SWAT teams were assembling in my neighborhood. Near where the Bloods, Crips, or Chicano would always fight, honeysuckle and wildflowers would grow.

Our backyard is humongous in my mind. When my Dad doesn't mow it (a regular occurrence) the grass grows so high that my sisters and I can play in it like we are in a far off country like Africa or India. We are on a safari and see all kinds of exotic animals (played by our old, wrinkly neighbor's goats and horses). There is one huge tree, which has a half-finished tree house in it (an unfinished joint endeavor between my Dad and older brother), as well as a few half-alive peach trees. But to my mind, the unfinished tree house is a ruin of an ancient race and the peach trees are actually ambrosia trees. This backyard is where we have room for adventures and stories, the stage for all our imaginings.

Every now and then, a chicken from someone down the street would escape and find itself in our backyard. It squawks and pecks and we ignore it. Eventually it wanders out and finds its way home. On one certain day, there are many chickens roaming the streets. They are angry, territorial, and make a lot of noise. Their feathers seem to puff up and they seem to wrestle each other. We decide to stay inside.

"I should really just report them to the cops." Dad grumbles to Mom when he gets home. I thought that was a bit extreme for a few chickens escaping our neighbor's yard. Besides the pit bulls that roam our other neighbor's yard are much worse!

Hearing sirens was such a regular occurrence that even now I don't notice them. I am riding to the store for ice cream, also a regular occurrence, and trying to go as fast as my skinny legs will let me. The wind streaming by my face is causing at least a little relief in the stifling heat. My home is situated on top of the steep hill that our street goes up. I am huffing and puffing by the time I am half way up, and, because of the hill I see nothing near our house. But as I get closer, I notice some kind of disturbance at our next door neighbors. I hear a siren but think nothing of it. Many on our block are being nosey, but staying inside. They crane their heads through their windows and talk on their phones. I drive on rapidly approaching home. I hear the sirens and then a booming voice on a loud speaker.

"This is the Police, please come out peacefully!" I stare for a minute when I finally clear the hill. There are three or four police cars and numerous officers with 'S.W.A.T.' written on their backs surrounding my neighbor's house.

"That is so cool, it's like a movie!" I whisper excitedly, swiftly riding by all the cars to my house next door. I notice some more little holes the walls of our house. I can't believe I was gone for all of the action!

I notice cops with K9 units in the little field between our house and the neighbors. I wince and hope they don't mess up our handmade baseball diamond; it took us a long time to get it done.

Throughout the whole neighborhood, honeysuckle and wildflowers bloom. The honeysuckle in particular is woven around trees and fences, bathing the whole neighborhood in a strong, sweet fragrance. During the spring I would all eat the sugary nectar from the honeysuckle. I would also take the vivid wildflowers and weave them together. Red Indian paintbrush, yellow buttercups and sunflowers, violet bluebonnets, and white baby's breath. A rainbow blooms for a crown on my head. Dandelions would grow all over the sides of the road, I would pick one everyday and wish on them, both meaningful and meaningless things.

Even at this young age I learn to avoid certain areas in my vicinity. I'm not sure why, just that older siblings told me not to. I don't always listen to this advice and so I run all around with my friends. Being friends with every race in the neighborhood is nothing unique but there is an unwritten rule for certain families not to be around others. Another unwritten rule, for those of us who are friends with both families, is to never wear certain colors in those areas.

But I am young and just wear whatever I feel like.

"What are you wearing!?" I hear as soon as Julie answers the door. She and her family are Mexican and have only lived in the US a few years. Her house always smells like tortillas and spices, and always sounds like there is a soccer game on.

She scolds me, rolls her eyes at my red shirt, then calls me an "idiota" and then says "you are lucky you are such a gringo!"

When I shrug, she exclaims, "Just remember to wear blue next time!"

Really! Why were people so critical about what I wear anyway?

When our family moved out of this house on Jordan Valley I was confronted with these facts of my childhood. I told my Dad how much I'd miss living there, tears in my eyes. He, on the other hand, was shocked. He did not understand how we had such different opinions of the same events. I slowly realized just how skewed my memories were from naivety, innocence, and ignorance. If we all looked back on childhood memories, would we find that the facts were much different then we remember them?