The rusty swing set was probably a health hazard but,
We were kids and we swung anyways.
My dad, Duddy, built a custom porch on our wooden clubhouse that always poked splinters
into my tiny feet.
I can smell the rotting plums underneath the plum tree next to my garage.
The only edible productions from our makeshift garden were countless un-ripe tomatoes.
Our bright blue porch hung over the inflatable pool we got every year.
When the pool wasn’t cold enough we walked to the beach across the street.
Every Sunday morning my family and I walked to White Hen Pantry and bought candy.
Rosie, my dog, would be tied up on a pole outside the convenience store while we scanned the
candy aisle for airheads and bazooka bubble gum
We walked back along the beach; running along tiny strips of land, trying to escape the tide.
The plum tree once leaned on the garage a little too much and my dad said it needed to be cut
down.
My dad cut it himself.
My brother and I each got a slice of the trunk.
I tried to count the rings but I couldn’t; the tree was too old.
My sisters, both six years older than I am, reached the age when they were too cool to walk to
White Hen Pantry on Sunday mornings.
Soon my brother’s ego took a toll on him too.
It was just my dad, Rosie, and I.
When I hit the third grade my parents told me we were moving.
The new house was not bad.
It had a big yard.
It had Maple trees but no Plum trees.
Rosie died of a sudden seizure just a while after we moved in.
Years later White Hen Pantry turned into 711 Convenience Store.
I always hear little kids from elementary schools saying they want to stop at 711.
I still call it White Hen.
My first dog is still Rosie
And plum trees are still my favorite.
My childhood will remain the same, but the world will keep changing.
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