Waving goodbye to Beverly Hills from the back seat of Mom’s Studebaker Hawk, next I found myself living on a dead-end street in Canoga Park among Hispanic neighbors. Ethnically diverse, the population expanded the range between poverty and wealth.

My first impression of Beverly Hills came from the picture of Will Rogers on the cover of the city’s phonebook. Will Rogers, the highest paid Hollywood film star during the 1930s had served as mayor of Beverly Hills.

Buddy showed up unannounced. Mom wondered how he found out where we lived. We did not have a phone, but he wouldn’t have called anyway. My mom looked through the peephole, hesitated when she saw it was her cousin Buddy, yet reluctantly she opened the door.

Adapting to life in Beverly Hills challenged everything I thought I knew about people and places. Academics and social skills got tested. Unable to become invisible, I tried harder to earn recognition and respect.

Going through pictures with my son and daughter-in-law, I came across a picture with a hole.

“Look at this. My dad is cut out of the picture,” I said.

Like a favorite video, I retrieve, replay, and unwind memories of a happy time when the four of us lived in the same house as a family. In Ventura, California, I went to first grade at Sheridan Way Elementary.