MY SUMMER MAGIC, PART 2 -
BSC, CA – As I sat comfortable in the kitchen, brown as a berry after two weeks at a church summer camp out of state, my aunt popped in the doorway holding a pair of pastel lavender jeans that she had just found in unpacking my camp suitcase. Being doted on is one of the perks to being an only child. Usually it was a plus, but not this time.
When you are 12, a kid, you tell the truth. Since I couldn't recall the camp girls' names, or which girl those jeans belonged to, though I knew they belonged to one of them, I answered, “I don't know” to my aunt's question about the jeans [see part 1]. Then I quickly followed up with, “You see, there were these two girls [I intentionally left out race] I met at camp, and we were friends.”
|Professional models used for illustration|
Then seeing the look on my aunt's face of disbelief, I added, “Nothing happened.”
But my aunt was always the Raymond Berger to my Perry Mason. “Were these two little black girls?”