I grew up in Detroit. My block was pretty much like any other on the west side. (oh and before I get going, I just want to set the record straight that there is a West and East side, a downriver but no F-ing "south Detroit" as mentioned in the infamous Journey song. But I digress....)
Our houses were little squares set one by one in perfectly laid out grids of streets and side streets that were punctuated each half mile by a main arterial street. These houses had the width of a driveway and a very thin side yard (3 feet maybe?) that separated them. If you were to stand on my front porch you could see most of the block in either direction.
To our right was a very neat house owned by a lady we shall call Mrs Candy. She was a sweet woman that was elderly- her age I can't remember, but she had white hair and wrinkled skin. Now, Mrs. Candy earned her honorific title because she doted upon me and gave me a lot of sweets. And as a 2 year old child, I thought this was the most wondrous thing ever! This must have been why it prompted me to wander away from home one summer day and go knock on her door. She let me in and I proceeded to spend several minutes enjoying her hospitality. Then my mother knocked. She was frantic. Two things happened that day. I learned that I couldn't wander off on my own. and I was given permission to visit with this glorious and sweet woman if I asked permission first!
And thus an unlikely friendship began. (to be continued...)
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