My parents were raised in very, very small town Texas — my mom in Pleasanton, Texas and my dad in Poteet, Texas. They moved to Japan after college, to fulfill my dad’s ROTC debt to the Navy, and then lived briefly in Coquille, Oregon. By 1976, they had returned to Texas, and settled in Houston.

My first memories are of Houston, the flooded streets that we played in like swimming pools, the incredibly rare snowfall being treated as a miracle, the sunny gloriousness of the almost-endless summers. Best of all, for me, were the trips to Pleasanton. We’ll return to those again and again in this year of gratitude, but for today I want to focus on the cousin I played with the most: Amy Mills.

Her dad, my mom’s brother, was probably the scariest person in my childhood. He was strict, tough, and not given to speaking with children. But even the fear of him couldn’t keep me away from their house, where Amy and I would play make-believe for hours and hours (though I confess I went over more during the day, when he was working in San Antonio …).

A gaggle of cousins around 1986. Please note how VERY VERY sophisticated Jennei and I were pretending to be (well, Jennei actually was). Also pictured: Amy Mills holding Andrew Cullen, Benjamin Cullen (front) and Michael Mills (back).

We wedded our dolls to each other. We played hide and seek. We snuck off to the nearby high school, and had picnics on the grounds. And I could trust Amy with any question, no matter how  awkward or weird. She didn’t judge me.

So many memories flood me when I think of Amy and my childhood. In my memory, we are almost completely free from adults, when we were together. My grandmother gave us space to roam, and my parents and her parents trusted that we wouldn’t get into too much trouble in small town Texas.

Sitting under the enormous oak tree at the Pleasanton High School, talking about boys.

Opening Christmas gifts together in an orgy of greed, screaming at the awesomeness of the gifts.

Lying in bed, late at night as tweens (we didn’t know the term then), talking about what on EARTH the words in granny’s romance novels meant.

Visiting her at her job at the IMAX theater in San Antonio, and getting free tickets.

Playing on the football fields with her friends from Pleasanton, feeling both included and able to be freer because I wouldn’t see them again (soon).

Amy was a daring, bold person in my childhood, a leader who included me and took me places I’d be too afraid to go on my own. Looking back I realize how
I often put myself above her, in my mind, as I was a sophisticated city kid and she was a small-town girl, but it is amazing how wrong I was. Her sophistication and openness to who I became throughout my life has been an amazing model in my family and in my life. I’m lucky to have a cousin like her. Thanks, Amy.