I can remember growing up and having a wonderful childhood. Wonderful happy parents who worked hard. My mom stayed at home because both my parents didn’t want us to be latch key kids. My nana ( my moms mom ) lived with us too. But my mom was a mom and a very good mom. She didn’t want my nana “raising” us while she worked. My dad worked Monday through Friday and traveled from Maine to New Jersey. I had a great childhood. A big ole Sea Captains house in Plymouth Mass, up one street from the waterfront. I had my own room. Of course as a kid, you never think you’re lucky. You always think your friend is luckier than you.
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For what ever reason, they were always luckier. My room was big, with a big closet and my own bathroom off my bedroom … the bathroom was huge. Not from a kids view point but because it was huge, the size of a small room. My room had a fireplace and a dumb waiter in the wall above the fire place. I loved my room, but I always thought that my best friends bedroom was better. Happiness is being a nana. I decorated my mantel for the all the holidays. My room was my retreat. It was all mine. I used to love going to bed early, and opening my windows especially in the winter months, and I would lay in bed with my gold transistor radio under my pillow and listen to the “stories” … oh how I loved them.
They took me away. My windows always open, and if it had snowed or was very cold out … the huge limbs outside my window would creek under the weight of the ice or wind. It was soothing to me, it called to me. Sometimes I would sit up late at night on my hope chest which was always under one of my windows … it was my window seat to the outdoors. Happiness is being a nana. I would sit there with my quilt around me and watch it snow, and yes my window was open. When we went out we left our doors unlocked except for bedtime. We never worried. We lived on a street with wonderful neighbors and kids our age. We all played great together.
Happiness is being a nana
No prejudice. No one was better than the other. Our houses were pretty much all the same. Our moms were home. We were never alone. We lived at each others homes. Their parents were our parents. My parents were their parents. No one hated each other. Everyone waved. We all knew about each other. We smiled. We would have porch sitting parties on Friday nights. I loved Fridays nights. My mom and dad were both home. Out came my moms radio and candles to the porch. Neighbors stopped by to say hi. Neighbors walked by and waved. Neighbors not strangers. It was a great time in my life, that I will never forget. Such a drastic difference today.