8110 Blanchard Drive
Me with my brothers Jimmy and Greg.
We lost Jimmy in 1981 and Greg in 2008. I miss them every day.
My mommy, the most beautiful woman in the world.
My funny, handsome daddy.
We left the area towards the end of my sixth grade year, and for whatever reason I didn't stay in contact with anybody, except my next-door neighbor, Karen, a girl my age who called or wrote from time to time. Eventually, we lost touch, too, although I finally tracked her down through Facebook a few months ago, and it was great to catch up with her.
I have tried in vain to find some of my other friends from elementary school, like Robert Fitzpatrick, my very first boyfriend. As a matter of fact, I am offering a reward for information leading to his whereabouts.
Robert Fitzpatrick, 1964.
Then--surprise!--I heard from Peggy; her family lived two doors down from mine all those years. The two of us traded Barbie clothes and made potholders and sold them door to door and played jacks and four-square and rode bikes in the street. We were in the same kindergarten class, but then we were separated, as I continued in public school while she went to a parochial school. Still, we saw each other after school and during summer vacations, and I have many warm memories of her.
We have exchanged lengthy emails and a few photos, although neither of us has pictures of each other from our childhoods. What is truly amazing is how much we have in common as adults. Our birthdays are just two days apart, we have strong family ties and cherish our roles as mothers, and we share many similar interests: reading, writing, beading, cooking, sewing, baking, knitting/crocheting. If we lived two doors apart from each other, like we used to, I imagine we would spend a lot of time sitting at each other's kitchen tables, drinking coffee, sharing girl talk, exchanging books, and working on our projects together.
I know technology can be harmful, and sometimes the world can seem overwhelmingly complex. But most of the time, I revel in the fact that I live in these times, in which a woman named Peggy can do a Google search for "Pam Asberry, Berkeley, Missouri" and find herself reconnected with a long-lost friend. We may have been separated for forty years, but now we are bound for life.