Wildwood. What child is this?

Wildwood Drive was the last street I lived on with my dad, sisters and mother. My dad sold health insurance and our mother was a stay at home parent. Our mother came from an affluent west Tennessee family that was connected to politicians and criminals. If you ran for governor, senate, congress, or president, you had to go through our grandfather. You were not going to get elected if you didn’t know our grandfather. He carried such weight around here that his nickname was Big. Big kept our mother in money and cars and paid for a housekeeper for our little rental house. The housekeeper’s name was Birdie and even though she came through twice a month, the house was always a wreck. Big’s life turned to complete shit in the 1980s and it killed him. 

Wildwood Drive. The first memories I have of Wildwood Drive are of me standing in the carport with a boy who was making fun of me because I pronounced the word three as free and I also had a hard time saying Scooby Dooby Doo. I said Scooby Dooky Doo and dooky was a curse word. The boy wasn’t really a friend, but actually the neighborhood bully. His name was Fred. And for the entire time I lived on Wildwood he instigated fights, and won a lot of them, only to have his mother make him apologize to me later. But over time I got even with him. I was a slight and skinny boy with effeminate features. I couldn’t fight, but I could talk others into fighting for me.