This is Chapter 1 from my book

I envy today's digital world where everything is captured on either video and a scandisk, because in order to have a visual of Knoll Drive I would have to have the ability to describe and remember details that have long faded or been forgotten. One picture from that time could tell a thousand stories and bring back vivid memories deep within my soul and would capture a different time and place, where everything was new, exciting and adventurous.

I think its funny how life always comes around or goes in a circle. I grew-up on Knoll Drive and 30 years later I live on Oak Knoll Drive. To describe Knoll Drive, in my limited experience to illustrate the time, place and datedness of that era will be a journey that is foggy and I am ill qualified, nevertheless, for the sake of memories, I shall make a hearty attempt.

When I close my eyes and think of a day I visualize myself as a little girl maybe about 8 years old, with my dogs Misty and Skippy following me around, my dog misty is pregnant yet again from Skippy. The hill on which Knoll Drive is perched upon is truly a magical island above the rest of the barrio poor-side and away from the rift raft from the below. The neighborhood below I do not dare visit; because on either side of Knoll Drive is much too steep to walk, unless you are terrible determined.

So, we kids who live upon the hill have a fortress unto ourselves and we know this and establish our safety and daily activities upon the fact that the Ramirez or Martinez families below will not trek up the hill and harass us. The same does not apply should we venture down the hill for then we are an open target for all pain and torture that comes our way, and we expect not that any of our Knoll Drive friends would or could aid our fears. So we did not, except on rare occasions, venture down the hill. If our bikes held fast and we could peddle around the block and make our ways safely up the hill, we might return untarnished, however that was risky. I never went down the hill alone, I was afraid of all the hoodlums below, I was very petite and a very easy target. Everyone knew this. My only weapon was my ability to make friends with the hoodlums below during school and hope that the same rule applies within the barrio. Sometimes they did, and sometimes they did not. This was a chance that was un-calculated.

The kids on the block were all the same kids; from when I was about age 4 to 18, every now and then a new family would either move in or out of Knoll Drive and we would consider that new Kid part of our family unless proven other wise. Like one time an Asian family moved in across the street from the Dunbar's house, I think their names were Ming and Ching, they stayed in their house and did not play with us. I remember going inside their house once and it smelled awful, little did I know then it was the garlic the mom cooked with and that the different Asian food they prepared caused the house to stink so bad. I often wondered why these kids did not play with us, as it turned out, they were usually studying after school and I think they did not trust us kids to be kind to them. I think they were right about that. Only because they were so different from the rest of us kids the mom had the foresight to know us better then we knew ourselves.

Oh, my gosh, we were so mean to each other; one could hardly believe we were "friends". We seriously got picked on all the time depending on whose turn it was to be picked upon. My pick-on name was "patty" as in Patty-Burger; I don't know exactly what a patty-burger was but it really hurt my feelings. The name stayed with me because my skin color was very light compared to the other kids on the block and until 7th grade when I was about 12 (purity time) my curly hair did something very scary it changed and when I got a hair cut it puffed out like a 'mushroom' hence my new and horrible nick name was 'Mushroom" I cried about that for way too long. (I have a picture of that)

My brother would be laughing hysterically now. He did not know his nickname was "sissy". That was because he cried to my mom and at a drop of one of his hot wheels, literally. When my brother cried we were always in trouble. So, mostly we tried to ditch him. He however was very creative and had a great imagination concerning his cars and other things. He would line 25 of his cars against his wall at night and kiss each one good night. If I would touch anyone of the cars for mischievous reasons or by accident, he would instinctively know and that would mean the belt for me. So, the only way to get beyond that would be to move very timidly across his room, which bored the 'girls' room and not move his cars. I always liked his cars. My brother was a big guy compared to any other kids on the block, yet he was kind and timid. I will never know why one day Benny-burger-butt tried to beat him up in front of my house. Benny and his family were the new kids on the block who moved in next-door to us, they went to Catholic School, and we kids thought they were stuck-up. I don't think Benny was mean, but I could not dare be his friend, because then I would be considered a trader. So, his nickname was of course "Benny-bugger-butt" this name would stick with him until his family moved out of Knoll Drive. I don't know when that was.

Benny-Bugger-Butt, was the kid who gave me a black eye and a bloody nose when he hit me in the face when I was about 8. This happened when I was trying to protect my brother from Benny's wrath; I did not know what the scuffle was about. The only pivotal incident from this was the fact that I was going to make my 1st holly communion on Saturday and had a pretty white dress for church. So, as the situation had it I walked down the church of St. Steven's in Monterey Park in my beautiful white dress giving my self to the Lord with a black eye. (This I have a picture of).