My Black History: Day 9.

I'm flabbergasted, that I still remember the very first house I lived in with my mother and brother. I have vivid memories about living on Fedora Street in Koreatown for my first 6-years of life. I used to play with a little girl named Patricia, but was never allowed in her home. No problem with "that." It's just something I recall. She used to sneak across the street to play with me because she wasn't supposed to leave her front yard. Needless to say, her parents were very strict.

At "this" time of my life I didn't know much about differences in culture or "that" any divide existed between various ethnic groups.

I'm really blessed being alive and having the ability to blog. I reflect back to my childhood and think heavily about a particular incident where nothing, but GOD kept me from becoming an abducted child. Patricia and I, were almost victims of kidnap. On one afternoon, we both snuck around the corner on our Big Wheel tricycles. "This" was also during the era of the "night-stalker" who was a serial killer on the loose in Los Angeles.

We were halfway around the block when an old white man in a station wagon pulled up alongside us. I'm not sure about Patricia, but I don't recall knowing better than to talk to strangers so when he stopped and spoke to us I responded. He pushed his passenger door open and asked me to come closer. I got off of my tricycle and I remember telling Patricia to come, but she stayed put on her tricycle and shook her head no.

As I approached his vehicle, he pulled out his private part and asked me if I wanted to touch "it." I remember being afraid and telling him no as I began to step back. I was actually close enough for him to grab me if he had done so instead of grabbing himself. He asked me if I wanted to go for a ride and I said no. Patricia beckoned me to get back onto my tricycle and we screamed as we peddled away as quickly as we could, returning back around the corner from which we came. The man didn't follow us. He proceeded forward and we never saw him again.

Thank GOD!!!

We told our parents and I remember my family being pretty frantic about the ordeal. They thought the man might have been the "night-stalker." He wasn't him, but still a pedophile. Although, I described him above by skin color and age, based upon my memory. I don't hold his actions towards me against any other old white man. Unfortunately, I've experienced other similar scenarios during my teen year, even some as an adult and guess what? The men involved weren't white.

Individuals should be held accountable for their actions and not be deemed as representatives for their entire ethnic group. "This" kind of grouping is unjust, invalid and ignorant.

"This" experience is one I just haven't forgotten. All the news stories I've heard and read about regarding child abductions takes me back to "that" memory. "It" causes me to be very overprotective with my children.

With so much else going on in the world, it's pretty unbelievable how some people choose to focus on the color of someone's skin and/or their past. My childhood friend Patricia was Korean. I grew aware of "this" fact long after we moved out of "that" neighborhood. "It" was never an issue and still today, "that" isn't what I remember most. I remember her being a wise little girl and perhaps, saving my life by knowing better than to talk to strangers. Had she be in agreeance with me, I may not have ever seen today.

Big Deal? Big Deal.

I went to Costco this afternoon and I was in a hurry (again), but I managed to renew my membership and finish shopping within 30-minutes. Something funny happened. It was amusing to me.

My youngest daughter loves blueberries. I just began liking them recently, this year. We've been getting them at the grocery store since she's was about 2-years old, when I discovered how much she enjoyed them with her grandmother. 

While moving through lanes as quickly as I could, I had already passed the produce area. I know that it's a much better buy getting the blueberries from Costco and more for my buck, so I went back. They appeared fresh, but I'm picky with food and I had to find a tray that I thought wouldn't go bad before the weekend. Found it, but as I headed towards the checkout stand I thought to myself "now you know you didn't have to be so anal."

After paying for the groceries, the boxer (they don't bag) dropped something. I didn't see what it was until he picked it up and showed me that nothing had fallen out of the blueberry container. He said, "nothing fell out." I asked him, "did it hit the ground?" He answered, "yes, but the tray didn't open and none of the blueberries touched the floor."

I looked at him with timid disbelief. He asked if I wanted him to go get a new tray for me. I answered yes. He replied, "are you sure? You really want me to back and get another one?" I responded, "yes, because I want them to last long. Now they'll be bruised." He smiled. I smiled, but I didn't budge. He went to get a new tray.

Why did he take so long though? It was actually about 7-minutes, but remember... I was in a hurry before I even began shopping. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have been timing him had I prioritized my day differently.

So what he took a while. He went to get the blueberries that he didn't feel like going to get. It's his job, but I don't pay the man. He brought back a good tray though.

Funny Part...

I got a new tray of blueberries. Being in the hurry that I was in, even more so after slowpoke took his time, I loaded the blueberries in the back of the wagon carelessly. I thought twice about the way I positioned them in the box, but I didn't make any changes. I rushed to get into the car and go. I made 2 turns before I heard/saw the box (containing the blueberries) shift. I figured just my luck; the dang blueberries got bruised anyway.

Big deal? Big deal, but no real problem. The blueberries are still edible! ;)