Where I Grew Up

Picture a cul-de-sac, wide and sunny, surrounded by light-colored two-story houses.
Now picture two pairs of sisters. Maybe the older sisters create art together on a white driveway, like Picassos with sidewalk chalk. The younger two are more active, jumping their scooters and bikes over curbs and wielding popsicles like swords or lances. Perhaps they are yelling at each other, perhaps they are giggling instead, but they are noisy and the older sisters try to isolate themselves in their fantastically colored world.
Or maybe the four girls are all together, the older two pushing-pulling the younger sisters up the hill as they sit, giggling, in a sturdy plastic wagon. Letting go, the older sisters laugh as the wagon rolls merrily away, accompanied by half-heartedly indignant shrieks. They chase after, racing the wagon to the bottom of the hill. Their mothers are chatting on the sidewalk, and as the four girls stumble-roll to a stop, the mothers call out to their respective children.

It is dinner time, but they’ll be back outside in a little while, playing and laughing as the street fades into semi-darkness.
I am one of the older sisters, here. I grew up in a close-knit community with friendly neighbors and many, many afternoons spent in the sun. It is absolutely the most supportive environment I could have ever hoped for: with the same people standing beside me throughout my life, I have grown into a confident, creative individual and am completely ready for a new great adventure.