The Buck Never Stopped Over Here!

by Tomás G Robinson

I was raised in a little country town (at the time) called El Paso de Robles, in Central California. Before it became one of the most popular wines producing, vineyard having tourist traps that it is known as now. I lived in a lower income housing suburb that offered nice 3- and 4-bedroom homes for sale and were priced so that families who were considered working class could qualify for a loan to take part in the American Dream.

All the families who moved in there were in the same boat. Not rich, but certainly not poor. There were families with a mom and dad, and their kids, and there were single parent families. The Mexican-Americans moved there, as did African-American families. The poorer white families were there as well. Add an Asian here and there, and well, you had Paso Robles (as it is more commonly called).

Soon the families began to get to know each other. I have to say, I am still friends with (and in touch with), most all the families that we grew up next to in that little neighborhood. We literally grew up next to each other for a good 15-20 year period.

One of the people we got to know real well was a lady named Patricia Buck. “Pat” for short. She moved there from Virginia, alone with her son, Patrick, with her. Seems she was a single mom, recently divorced, and he was her only child. Patrick was a couple years younger than me, but we hit it off well. In fact, Pat and Patrick became a part of the family.

We often went to social events together and took trips together and she became, like, a second mom to me. Pat was in her late thirties when she moved there. I was around eleven years old. Patrick was around 9 or 10. So, since he was an only child, he hung out with us a lot till his mom got home.

One thing about Pat. The woman had more energy for doing things that only one other person in my family could rival. If something needed to be done to raise money for this field trip, or raise money for the new chair and table in the school foyer. She was always moving, doing and keeping busy. She soon knew everyone one would need to know in order to get things done for projects she was a part of or starting.

This takes us to the reason I’m writing about her. Why is this woman someone I look up to as a hero in the community I grew up in? Like I said, she was always involved in one thing or another to get the ball roiling for whatever. And, this did not end with us or her child. When it came time for Summer Break or Spring or Winter Breaks, we were always trying to just plop our butts on the couch and veg out for sixty days. She would have none of this, knowing we had to be doing something to stay out of trouble or keep us busy.

She was concerned with the fact that the city council hadn’t taken any steps to start any programs geared at keeping the at-risk children busy after school. You know, the ones who always seemed to slip through the cracks to be engaged and involved in something … anything positive. She made it her mission to keep the local neighborhood kids engaged.

Growing up in our neighborhood, we had a “Little Rascals” type of diversity in our group. There was a representative from every culture in our pack. And we didn’t even notice that kind of thing. We realize these things when we become adults. We were kids. And we were all hanging out with each other. When we started raising funds to take these road trips to Magic Mountain or Disneyland, people started to notice our group.

Now, Pat was the adult that kids went to so they could talk to her and express their issues and troubles. She was always quick to help or come up with a way to raise funds to help.

Her’s and my parent’s houses were the two homes in our neighborhood that had become the ‘hang out’ pads for us kids when we wanted to chill and hang out, (mostly our house!). Since we were hanging out a lot anyway, and since we were learning how to raise funds by doing odd jobs or having bake sales or book drives anyway, we should form a club!

For kids, the idea of joining a club would be a few of us building a super crappy treehouse out of cardboard and stray wood, and trying to organize and realize our potential, like they used to do in those elaborate Little Rascals episodes, with the grand court rooms, judges’ bench and speak-easys. Somehow, our attempts at these types of locations were a far, far cry from what they showed on TV.

Still, with our annual mission being some sort of destination we actually did form a group that Pat put together and even registered to be recognized with the city.

The Neighborhood Youth Group was born in or around 1977. I don’t remember exactly when we started calling it that, but we did start referring to this group (and everything we did within it), as a NYG Project. When the information started going around that there was this hip teen filled organization that was trying to do good in the lower income community, the local newspaper, The Daily Press, decided to do a story on us.

As one of the founding members who was always involved in the entertainment factor (singing, performing, dances, etc.) I was one of the ones interviewed for the article. The story was predominately about Pat and how she formed the group and the projects we had lined up. It was exciting to see our pictures in the paper in the article. And soon, the children from the more affluent families started wanting to join in and see what this was all about.

With our newfound popularity we were able to accomplish many things in our efforts to keep the kids motivated, engaged, and out of trouble. Dances were organized, more road trips and BBQ’s. Kids came and went, got interested and lost interest, but it was always there.

For years we were involved within the group heavily. But as Patrick and I got older, we started involving ourselves in other things revolving more around the female persuasion. As time went on the club grew smaller and smaller, and eventually as all the kids had grown, we pretty much just let it disappear into our memories. And, just like that, The Neighborhood Youth Group was no more.

Patrick moved to San Francisco to work this bar that he had invested in with others. I moved to San Diego to work on my music. My little brother, to Tennessee, and so on. My parents found other interests, split up, got back together, and Pat moved to Virginia to reacquaint herself with her family again.

I hadn’t thought about her or this group in years. Until … just one day sitting back and thinking of people I’m my neighborhood who I grew up around.

I thought of this highly energetic Black woman and her son, who came into my life and became family. We had it pretty good back then. We had things to do more so than just sitting in a room staring at an electronic device. We had big memories of outside fun, road trips and comraderies that can only be formed in those types of situations. And, we had Patricia Buck! Single mother raising her son and becoming mom to several kids she welcomed into her ‘club’.