A trip downtown was no small ordeal. It meant getting dragged to the grocery store, the butcher, the hair salon, the hardware store, and the gas station where they checked the tires on the family wagon every time they filled up the tank. At the time, it was torture – a captive in my unbuckled passenger seat.

 

Looking back, these were the moments helped define my childhood, namely my connection to small town America – where people didn’t just know your name, they knew your entire family. People waved and really meant it and neighbors were truly neighborly.