Childhood Memories Essay

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Mostly the things I remember about being six had to do with simple suburban life: the driveway, the front yard, the field down the side yard, the woods behind the house. My brothers and I were always told “go outside and play,” and we did. We biked, triked and scooted up and down the driveway. Then there was a basketball to bounce. Lots and lots of running around and a version of tag in the backyard we called “monster.” My world was pretty clear and contained. Brothers to keep up with, yellow dandelions along at the end of the driveway, the field full of pricker bushes, milkweed pods, ugly sumac trees here, a grove of pine trees in the woods near the creek. All I remember was play, except for church on Sundays. Except for times I remember …show more content…
Instead of an organ, we had a rock band with a drum set. Our hymnal was called “Hymns Hot and Carols Cool.” Pot luck dinner always included lumpy casseroles made with textured vegetable protein. Eventually men started showing up to church with go-tees and pony tails. Ours was a hippy church.
And I guess the Easter I got arrested was some kind of hippy-church field-trip. It was Easter weekend 1965, I think. To celebrate Good Friday, the day Christians remember Jesus’s crucifixion, my dad had collaborated with some of the black churches in the “inner city” to drive around Monroe county and pray. There’s an old Catholic tradition of praying “the stations of the cross” to commemorate Jesus’s condemnation, his walk of shame to the hill of Golgotha and his getting nailed to the cross, and his last words. Catholics pray in church. We hippy protestants, it turned out would gather together, black/white, old/young, city-folk and suburb-folk and wander around the county picking places of inequality, poverty, and injustice to pray upon.
DRAFT Essay #6 family story
Hughes 2
It all started early Friday morning. We white Presbyterians took our yellow bus downtown to meet a church full of black Baptists and there yellow bus , we mixed everybody up and then we started the prayer-a-thon. As my father tells it, we prayed for fair wages at a plastics factory, for clean air and water at a waste dump, for better schools at a crummy looking high school on the east side

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