There were no funds to keep playgrounds with grass in East L.A. We got concrete. There was maybe a tree--a tree placed somewhere for looks. In contrast, many of my Midwestern counterparts got to frolic in grass--some even got to ride their own ponies. The closest I ever got to livestock was the lazy P.E. lady who never moved from her spot under the one playground tree, letting instead her whistle do all the work. I was never too excited about ponies anyway. In second grade, a girl let me brush her My Little Pony. After the second stroke, the whole tail fell off and the mortified girl snatched the My Little Pony and vowed to never let me play with her dolls again. What a bitch.