CHILDHOOD REKINDLED

I miss my carefree summer days as a child. My family lived in a house, on a city sized lot, right on the outskirts of Baltimore. We had a white picket fence and all the trimmings. On one side of the street were Catholics. On the other side, Jews. All my friends were Jewish, save for a few Catholic ones who went to our church. I learned to eat bagel, lox, gefilte fish and matzoh. We played in the streets, on the porches and in the yards with careless abandon. Life was good. There was an archway of concord grapes with a gate leading into the yard on the right side of our property. And along the back edge of the fence, in the far reaches of the yard, were blackberry bushes. My mom used to bottle them and make jam. I delighted in picking the fresh fruit off the vine. The taste of those succulent fruits melted in my mouth. I lived there on that street from the time I was 4 years old, until I was in the 7^th grade. Then, my family moved out to the suburbs. And I was devastated leaving all my friends behind. Many of the Catholic families participated in this mass exodus. But most of the Jews stayed put. My very best friend Barbara was one of them. We stayed in touch for a year or two after the move, then we lost track of each other. Years later, after we had grown up and left our collective homes, my mother and hers, would occasionally bump into each other in stores, in the old neighborhood. And they would talk about us. Our lives had taken completely different paths and with nothing in common, no new addresses were exchanged for us to communicate. The last time my mother saw hers, I found out shortly later, that Barbara was living in New York City. After 9/11 I tried to find her. Not knowing whether she had married or not I searched using her maiden name. There was a picture in a paper that I thought might be her, but I had no way of knowing for sure. And when I tried to pursue it, I reached a dead end. I was frustrated and disappointed. But it was, what it was and there was nothing else I could do. Time marched on. But it didn’t stop me from wondering about Barbara and her life. Toward the end of last year, my mom got a letter in the mail. It was Barbara looking for me. My dad had passed earlier in the year and she saw the obit. She sent my mom her address and phone number and my mom forwarded them to me. I was in shock to hear from somebody from my childhood. It was so long ago. I wrote Barbara a quick synopsis of my life and mailed it. I warned her I’m pretty boring. Never venturing far from home. I’m just an armchair traveler and a bit of an entrepreneur. After getting it, she texted me. And just like that our friendship was rekindled. It’s as though we never parted. She travels the world. And I’ve been mesmerized by her stories of far off places. She doesn’t do any social media at all. But she’s lead me to old school mates that do. I’ve looked up many of them on Facebook. But so far I haven’t friended any of them. It was ions ago, and most of them probably don’t remember our escapades as youngsters. I am so glad to read about them, though. Sometimes the most unexpected things turn into blessings in disguise. I’m so happy Barbara and I found each other again. It has enriched both of our lives so much, in this time of crisis in the country. And I am so grateful.