When I was five, a girl finally moved onto our street in Philadelphia. She had brown hair and gray eyes and was beautiful. She liked all the things I liked. People used to call us the Bobbsey Twins.
I bossed her around mercilessly. (She was tolerant of bossy friends)
Her mother served us pretzels and pepsi, which I found amazing. We made tents that went on for miles. Her mother had trunks full of costumes we liked to dress up in. We did all the things girly girls did in the fifties. She was good at the hula hoop and skating. I was good at hopscotch and jacks. We each had a Ginny doll. Hers was pristine. Mine was so messy it had to be replaced. We had sleepovers. We were brownies together. She was a Methodist. I was a Lutheran.
In sixth grade, we finally landed in the same classroom. Oddly, this was the beginning of the end because she had built up a group of classroom friends and so had I. It was hard to separate home from school. Doris got her attention at recess. Ruth had mine.
When we went off to junior high school, I found more new friends and so did she. I should have kept in touch with Sally Walton. I wonder where she is now. Happy and healty I hope.
Who was your first friend?
Such glamor inside our teensy row house. We are six.
The boy is my brother, Jeff. We are at the zoo and I remember this day.