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Jenny and I have been glued together since we were ten and no two girls have ever been closer. Growing up in small town Mississippi on the wrong side of the tracks, our rural roots were way lower than humble. We were those two little white girls walking down the rutted red dirt lanes in bare feet. Most times nobody was there to watch out for us and it's a miracle we survived. All around us people were growing up hard, or not growing up at all.

Life may be like a deck of playing cards, but we hadn't so much as drawn a pair, much less three of a kind. Jenny and I lacked two-parent homes. Strange people were always hanging around, drinking and carrying on. Sometimes there were fights, and bad souls were trading little white packages for dollars. Humiliation and lack of pride are devastating to youth, even though they may not be able to put a name to it. Sometimes it was downright ugly at home. We have always been on our own.

One good thing happened to us as children and as I look back, it was the big fork in the road. Anita Goldberg from Alligator, Mississippi was the librarian. A large black woman of refinement who had married a Jewish man, she had a heart for the South. Educated in Boston, she had returned to her native land to help others. As children we were wide eyed at her tales of far off places and fantasized ourselves as beautiful ladies in gorgeous gowns.

...

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