I’m a child of the 60’s and 70’s. I grew up in a neighborhood called Shannon Hills. The neighborhood was a newly developed plat of land that became home to many young families escaping the “city” and settling into suburbia.  Along with these young families came kids. Many kids.

The kids formed life-time friendships with the kids next door or across the street, or around the corner. I know I did. Our parents played Rummy together on Saturday nights while we kids chased lightning bugs and told ghost stories.

We had imaginations and were never afraid to use them. The slick, plastic mat of a Twister game became the backdrop of our pretend rock band’s concert. We were The Beatles. The Monkees. The Jackson 5.

Outside, we were  Hoss and Little Joe. Alias Smith and Jones, Lancer, and the guys from Laredo. And of course Buck, and Blue Boy, and Manolito.

We held seances and ran screaming out of the house when sirens wailed in the background. We practiced acrobatic routines in our backyards when we were all going to run away and join the circus – and one of us did.

We were board game experts. Masterpiece, Life, Clue…our parents should have bought stock in Milton Bradley.

We didn’t understand the significance of President Nixon’s resignation. Or the complexity of a war being fought in a jungle in a country far, far away. We were kids. We were going to live forever.

But we didn’t. Trish Godwin left us Saturday, June 8th. During the “wonder years” she was Patricia Morgan, oldest of the Morgan sisters – Susan, Germaine, and Linda.


Patricia “Trish” Morgan Godwin, middle row, far right. RIP, Trish. It was a heckuva ride.













The reality of her death is so overshadowed by the reality of her life. A life so full of wonder. A childhood that defines us to this day.

Please enjoy the video. We’re still trying to find our way back. pooh