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Bonnie Canelakes's avatar

Even in Detroit where I grew up, OK we did lock our doors but otherwise my experience was not terribly different. I lived in a mixed neighborhood that was yes, mostly white, but you could see kids in most all the neighborhoods north and south of Harper Ave; they were vibrant with kids-on bikes, in yards and recess in full swing at all the elementary schools. In the 70’s I took 3 buses downtown to attend HS near Wayne State University. It was my hometown and I never really felt unsafe in what was thought of as a very dangerous city. Thing is, are kids at large unsafe playing in their neighborhoods in this cell phone age or have parents slowly become overly paranoid with the advent of immediate & exponentially hyped news? I dunno.

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Gloria Horton-Young's avatar

Your post brought back so many memories!

In the dreamlike days of my 1950s and early 60s childhood, life was a canvas painted with the delicate colors of simplicity and wonder. Our world was an endless garden of discovery, where each day unfurled like a new adventure under the wide, open sky. We wandered through fields and forests, our laughter mingling with the whispers of the wind, and our small hands crafting castles in the sand and secret forts in the woods.

Our neighborhood was a haven of trust, where doors remained invitingly open, and the warm glow of friendship shone from every window. We played hopscotch on the sidewalks, our chalk-drawn dreams a vibrant testament to our unbridled creativity. The aroma of homemade pies (Mrs. Byrd) and freshly churned ice cream (my Daddy) wafted through the air, drawing us to kitchens where stories and treats were generously shared.

In that enchanted era, our imaginations soared unfettered, far from the grasp of today's digital distractions. We spun tales and adventures under the shade of ancient oaks, our make-believe worlds as real to us as the ground beneath our feet.

School was a gentle journey, a meandering river of discovery rather than a race. We learned the magic of words and numbers through stories and songs, and the playground was our realm of joyous conquests and simple delights.

The community was our extended family, teaching us the value of connection and the art of conversation. Local fairs and church picnics under the stars were the highlights of our social calendar, where laughter and music filled the air.

Life then was a melody of unhurried days and heartfelt connections, each moment a thread in the rich tapestry of a close-knit community. Those days, like a cherished, faded photograph, evoke a nostalgia for a time when the world spun a little slower, and the joys of life were found in the simplest of moments.

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