How many people remember their first childhood playmate? Often, it was a sibling, or a neighbor, but in my case, it was my niece. I was the youngest of four children, but the age differences were so dramatic that my oldest brother could have been my father, with my only sister, not far behind. As such, I was still a toddler, when my sister presented me with my first childhood playmate – my niece Cindy.
Somewhere in a box are countless black and white photos of Cindy and I (and within less than two years, her little sister, Julie was added to the mix) of us riding our tricycles on the sidewalk in front of my grandmother’s house, playing in the dirt, having a tea party on the miniature picnic table on the back porch of my parents’ house, and Cindy in her cowgirl outfit. The memories are so thick that I can see all these same photos in vivid color in my mind.
As children, we spent most weekends together, either at my grandparents’ house in Weatherford, Oklahoma (the same town where my sister and her family live), or at my parents’ house in Oklahoma City. During the week, we occasionally wrote each other letters once we learned how to write. I still have several (in the same box with the photos) of those letters she wrote to me. I’m the one who broke the news to her that Santa wasn’t real (for which I was severely reprimanded). I recall us being mortified when “Ken” left a surprise in the Barbie sized toilet that was set on the kitchen table, later to realize it was a raisin put there by my grandmother. Then doing the same prank to her little sister - but Cindy promptly picked up the raisin and plopped it in her mouth - which significantly added to Julie's horror (I've never eaten a raisin since).
We grew up, got married, and had children of our own. My youngest daughter and Cindy’s daughter carried on many of the same traditions that we began, but as was the case in most families, the “every weekend” get-togethers were less frequent than when we were small. Nonetheless, by the time our children had children, our grandchildren, too, became childhood playmates on occasion.
With Cindy’s birth, our family had five living generations of women, which made me a little jealous (even before family history became such an obsession). When her daughter was born, we had another five living generations of women. Her granddaughter just started college, and I expected that before too long, our family might once again have five living generations…
Cindy’s life was fraught with tragedy. She was an IRS agent in Oklahoma City when the Murrah Federal Building was bombed, and although she was not there that day, the loss of many of her friends affected her deeply. Then just a few years later, on a senior trip the weekend prior to his high school graduation, her only son drowned. I can’t begin to imagine the grief that she carried with her every single day. Now I can find comfort in knowing they are once again together in Heaven.
Rest in peace to my first childhood playmate, my first friend, my first pen-pal, my first partner-in-crime. I promise to think of you often. Ride 'em cowgirl!
