It Takes a Neighborhood

The neighborhood we lived in until I was seven felt like its own little world. I remember playing well with my brothers, making mud pies, smuggling sugar snap peas from a neighbor’s garden, lying on the ground and trying to decipher the shapes of puffy white clouds. I learned to ride a bike in that neighborhood, as well as ride with no hands. I was quite the showoff, riding up and down the street.

I changed my dress multiple times a day, but I did not care for hairbrushes and face washing. Early one morning...

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