Manila, Philippines. Forbes Park, 1956. Around the time of this photo, I asked Dad why we rarely saw my classmates at the Manila Polo Club. He replied, “Not everyone can be a member.” I was too young to process the long explanation but there was, for instance, a ceiling on enrollment. One needed a sponsor. You had to be voted in. It was expensive. Some folks lived on the beach, or had swimming pools, or spent all their time at the golf club. Being able to walk through the front door at MPC didn’t necessarily make us special.
So, this is what that looked like.
The club had (has) a twenty-five meter swimming pool, tennis courts, badminton courts, a duck-pin bowling alley, riding stables, party houses, a ballroom. Even at the tender age of six, I could see our life had experienced an upgrade.
My mother, and stepsister Carolyn, waxing glamorous on the low board. We weren’t in Flintstone, Georgia anymore.
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I spent an inordinate amount of time around that pool trying to get my near-albino skin to tan. Finally, after three years I no longer glowed in the dark, but just barely.
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