The World Beyond the Red Fence

When I was a little kid growing up in Modesto, California I didn’t know we were poor.

I had food, clothes, and a pair of shoes.

We lived in a house on Herndon Avenue that my Dad and his brother built with their own hands.

It had a big picture window in the living room and I could look out over Harry Steele’s orchard and feel grateful to be alive.

My dad drove a truck for a living, and my mom stayed home and took care of me and my sister.

We had picnics in the back yard and bought our bread at the day old bread store but didn’t everybody?

The house had a big backyard and at the end of it there was a red fence.

My parents told me never to go beyond the red fence into the alley so of course that was the first thing I did when I reached the age of ten.

The world beyond the red fence started out fine then it turned ugly and scary.

Tough looking boys and girls wearing ripped clothes chased me, one eyed drunks screamed at me, and there was a pretty girl who asked me if I wanted to come inside her house for some fun.

What kind of fun can a ten year old boy have with a girl inside her house?

This was not my world.

This was a world of desperate and angry people.

People who started fires in the empty church lot, who swore, and rode loud motorcycles.