01/09/2026
I grew up in a household where money wasn’t a regular topic—not because we had a lot, but because life wasn’t measured by it. We didn’t live fancy, and special things stayed special. Meals were homemade, warm, and filling. You ate what was served, especially the vegetables, and sweets came only after the plate was clean.
If we wanted a few coins in our pocket, we earned them. Lawns needed mowing, cars needed washing, weeds needed pulling, wood needed stacking, and neighbors always had something we could help with. Work wasn’t a punishment—it was how you learned value.
Our childhood didn’t glow from screens. It lived outdoors. We chased balls across the street, pedaled bikes until our legs gave out, climbed trees we probably shouldn’t have, searched creeks for frogs, swam in summer heat, and ran with friends until dinner time caught us.
We drank water from the tap without thinking twice. Soft drinks were a rare treat, poured from glass bottles that went back to the store for a small refund. After school, responsibilities came first—homework and chores—then freedom. We always told our parents where we were, who we were with, and we knew better than to ignore the call of the streetlights.
Rules were clear. Parents made them, and we followed them. Respect wasn’t negotiable. Adults were listened to, good manners were expected, and discipline taught accountability, not fear.
We held doors, helped carry bags, stood for elders, and used “please” and “thank you” without being reminded. Life moved slower. People felt closer.
And even with less than what kids have today, boredom was something we never seemed to find.
