One of the best stories I’ve read in a long time!
“No. Marta Sanchez isn’t coming. She wasn’t invited.” It was May of 1958, I was 8 years-old, and at Susie’s house, three doors down from mine in Passaic, NJ. We were talking about an end of the school yearparty at her house this coming Saturday. Susie’s house was the biggest and most perfect one in town with a pool in the backyard (with a slide!), a treehouse for her brothers that was off-limits to girls, and a permanently set up croquet course where we were right now. “But she has to come. I thought everyone from our class was coming,” I blurted out while banging my mallet against the wooden ball sending it precisely through the hoop. I continued, “Her mom even made us matching… More