“Living Large” At The Amazing Public Housing Projects (Part 1)

I sure hated moving away from that tiny trailer in the run-down, but awesome, trailer park and would miss my friends. However, Big Jon would not be missed. We lived in many places during my childhood, but it never seemed to matter where – there was always at least one bully. I guess it was the same for all boys unless you were the bully. Most of all, though, I would miss “the creek of pain.”

It wasn’t at the time, but it is obvious to me now that we were not leaving by choice. I guess when you beat the tar out of your landlord, it’s a pretty good bet you will be asked to leave.

The Projects*

The place where we were moving was row after row of brick buildings separated by paved parking lots and sidewalks. I guess you could say this was the opposite of the place whence we came.

Whatever sadness I had about leaving the trailer park evaporated after walking into our new home. First of all, there were stairs where I had never seen stairs before; they were inside the house!! I wondered where they went and raced up them to see. There were more rooms up there and Momma yelled out and said one of them would be mine! I can’t remember if both rooms had a window, but the one I picked sure did, along with a closet of my own! The window was open so of course, the first thing I did was climb out onto the roof of the little back porch to take a look around.

Made from A Rib

There on the porch, next door was a small kid sitting and bouncing a little ball. I was never what you would call a “social butterfly,” but thinking this could be someone to play with, I quickly climbed back in the window, then ran downstairs, and opened the back door calling out, “hello!” As the kid turned to face me, I stopped in my tracks, because this was not someone I could play with – it was just a girl. I had seen girls before, but other than a cousin, I had never been this close to one. It was kinda like seeing one “in the wild” for the first time.

I wanted to turn and run away, but my “hello” was already out there so I just stood staring at the ground like an idiot. First thing I knew, the girl started asking me questions. I wasn’t answering, but it didn’t seem to matter as the questions just kept coming: whatsyourname?didyoujustmovehere?doyougotoschool?whatgradeareyouin?howoldareyou? I was scared to death and relieved when Dad whistled for me, which allowed for me to finally turn and run away, vowing to never get that close to a girl again.

Dad needed me to help unload our “things,” which wasn’t much because they all fit inside and on top of our car. I don’t remember what kind of car we had, but it was huge, smoked a lot, and always had at least one flat tire in the mornings. Plus, Dad was either working underneath it or under the hood every day. I really liked helping him work on it and became familiar with math even before starting school by learning the different wrench sizes. And as a side note, it was best to not hand my dad the wrong size wrench. As we unloaded the car I could hear lots of kids playing off in the distance.

What’s A Playground?

When we were done unloading I asked to go play and was given permission, but reminded of the “whistle rule.” So off I went in the direction of the “kid noise.” It was good the kids were making lots of noise because I probably would have never found them, and also would have not found something I had never seen before, a very large open area which I soon learned was called “a playground.” Boys were playing baseball, some were flying kites, and some were, of course, arguing and fighting. There were more girls there, too, gathered in groups, talking and giggling. Some were on swings, monkey bars, and slides. All those things were new to me, but I would steer clear of the girl areas anyway.

I vividly remember that day, watching the boys playing baseball through a chain-link fence hoping to be invited to join them. If you’ve ever been the “new boy,” then you know there is a stigma attached to that title, along with a period of time where you remain invisible. I remained invisible at the fence for a long time. When it began to get dark, I headed home, but realized I didn’t know where home was. Every direction I turned and every building I passed, all looked the same. There were probably signs and numbers, but I could not yet read. The “kid noise” had guided me to the park, but there was nothing to guide me back home. Now it was dark, I was lost, and in big trouble.

Very Similar

*They were simply called “The Projects” when we were growing up. Sometimes known by different terms today, “Public Housing,” assisted, or low-income housing. It was the nicest place I ever lived until I was almost grown. I loved it.

Very many exciting things happen during our time in the housing project including “first grade” and “the sewer burglar.” I’ll cover the first day of school next in part 2. (thanks for reading)