Giant Marshmallows

by Renee Spoolstra

"Ring! Ring!" The poncho man rings his bells. Sappy children’s songs play out of a truck with paint chipping, bumper sagging, and old faded pictures of Tweety Bird ice cream bars. "Daddy I want a dollar!" Kids everywhere playing in the front yards that had no grass. My neighborhood was many different colors. Red, yellow, black, and, well, me. I grew up not just knowing what diversity was, but living it. All the kids in the neighborhood, they were all my friends. There was Marissa, Melissa, Jay, Shy, Marquita, Rena, and Raul. We came up with all sorts of ideas to pass the time. What could we do to make some money so we could walk to the corner store to buy some candy? There were lemonade sales that nobody came to, but that was OK. Things were so laid back and that’s how we loved it. We didn’t care or understand why our neighbor always had the police over, why little babies cried and never quit, and why my friends had to stay the night for days at a time. We were smiling, rosy cheeked, full of energy kids. The only thing that we had to worry about was whose turn it was to ride in the wagon next. See when you have friends like those they don’t care what you own or how you dress just that you are their friend. This was a place where you could wish for toy stores, enormous houses, and giant marshmallows. Here, everyone is unique.