The Neighborhood

I grew up in a magical time. I know it's normal to be nostalgic for your childhood, but I'm telling the truth.

Our neighborhood had tons of kids. We all went to school together; we all got in trouble together. In the row of bungalow homes, the parents crossed the lawn or the street and chatted through the magic sunset hour. As children, we ran, climbed trees, played tag, played four-square, and later played spin the bottle. We painted rocks with nail polish and tried to sell them to the neighbors. Some kind neighbors actually purchased them.

We would do anything on a dare. (I'm still living that one down. I will apologize to Mrs. Bradley for that little episode for the rest of my life.)

Front porch lights flashed when it was time to come in. We ignored them. There was no cable or video games. We didn't want to go in. They always tracked us down.

Occasionally, someone broke a limb. Occasionally, someone got punched. For the most part, we all got along. There's nothing like seeing someone after 20 or 30 years and saying, "Do you remember ...?"