I would show up at their house to ask them to play and would get turned away at the door

I remember my tenth birthday; we were living in the yellow house on Linda Rosa, it was March and it was a very nice day. The pictures from that day show a happy fat kid with a majority of her neighborhood friends sitting around a table while wearing party hats and eating cake. Two friends that were missing, whom I thought couldn't come, showed up and were immediately taken aback that they were not invited to my party. I had wanted them to come and had asked my mother to invite them but she had told me they would not be home. My friends left crying (I am ashamed that I do not remember their names, I do remember they were twin brother and sister) and my party was not the happy event it started out to be. I later found out from my mother and father that, because my friends were Filipino, my parents did not trust them and did not want them at our house. This was confusing to because we were welcome at their house and their grandparents did not take issue that my skin was white; at least not until the day of my birthday party. I would show up at their house to ask them to play and would get turned away at the door: I wanted to explain that it was not my fault, that I wanted them at my party, that my parents were the ones who didn't. One day, maybe a month later, I did get my chance but the damage had been done and are friendship was no longer.