I drove through the old neighborhood today. Not just the home where I grew up. I drove by the hospital where I was born and the grade school I attended. (The baby gets very tired of the same conversation every time I drive by this school. I say, "That's where I went to grade school." He says, "I know." And then he rolls his eyes. Wonder where he got that?
My golden girls and lots of my friends went to this grade school. Our generation experienced busing in this time. A big adventure was when our parents would allow us to walk home from school. A 20-minute walk could take hours; we found lots of detours. We felt safe.
Today, we all know about school shootings and other atrocious things. A posting on the Internet can incite a riot or a beating. Somehow, doing the duck and cover thing under the desk in preparation for nuclear war seems innocent and quaint.
I slowed down in the school zone so I had lots of time to pay attention. Two police cars out front and one in the side parking lot. Memory lane and a little sadness set in. The only time we saw a police officer at the school in my youth was when he came to explain Officer Friendly.
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