Tribute to the girl on the corner

When I was six years old I had a special friend who lived in the corner house. She was special for a couple of reasons. First, she was a girl and at age six she was the only girl I knew other than my cousin Jeannie. Second, she hit me on the head with a large stick and put an inch cut on my scalp ~ a scar that I carry to this day ~ the first of many scars, some seen, some not so seen, that I carry from a life of encounters with members of the opposite sex. She was my kinda girl; carry a big stick and use it!

During the summer of 1945 when I was six years old, the city imposed a city-wide polio quarantine. Children were not allowed to leave their yards and no friends were allowed to visit. I remember how hard it was and how afraid I was , but I survived the boredom of that summer.

As soon as the quarantine was lifted I remember rushing to visit my buddies Louie and Stevie. I remember then going down to the corner to visit my other friend only to be told that she was no longer there. Shortly thereafter her mom, dad and older brother moved away. My first broken heart.