Not a Kid Anymore

I grew up in suburban Royal Oak in the 1950’s and 60’s.  The houses all looked alike on our dirt street. When it rained, the street was so muddy the dads parked on Eleven Mile Road, or one of the other paved streets, and walked the final block or two home.  Farnum, the street we had to cross to get to Kenwood Park a block from our house, didn’t get paved until I was in high school.

I was three when we moved in in 1950 and eighteen when I left for college in the fall of 1965.  Those fifteen years helped define who I was and who I hoped to be.  I was one of the first to leave our block.  Although I returned to live with my parents for four summers, I was just visiting.

Mom and Dad bought the house at 500 North Edgeworth because my sister, Sharron, was about to be born and they needed more space.  Four years later our family was complete with the birth of my youngest sister, Jackie.  Most everyone in the neighborhood was starting a family.  Ed and Gert Prested lived on our right, Barb and Ernie Ruff to our left,  while Mr. Matson and his wife, Noreen, lived directly across the street.  Andy and Polly Graham lived kitty-corner from us.  A few years later, Barb and Dick Coatta moved in next to the Grahams.  They were all in their thirties and having kids.  When the kids stopped coming, we had three, the Presteds eight, Ruffs and Matsons four each, Graham’s two, and Coatta’s six.  The Grahams were clearly underachievers.

When we were ready to attend school,  we walked to Lincoln Elementary. Most of the families attended the newly formed St. Dennis Church.  We made our first communions, confirmations, walked to catechism together, and some of us married there.  It was a part of the tie that bound the families.

In the early years, all the moms stayed home to tend to the kids.  Later, Polly and my mom landed jobs but not until the kids were in school.  Everyone looked out for each other.  Especially the moms.  They’d rat you out in a New York minute if you tried to get away with anything.  They’d walk over and give your parents the “heads up” if you got out of line.  Most often, they’d let you know themselves.  No ratting required.  Everyone lived by similar rules so that made it easy for the parents.

After several years, some of the families moved away, but most waited until the kids were grown.  It was a safe neighborhood and safety was number one.  After the kids were raised, they started having families of their own. Over time, life took its toll.  I believe Mr. Matson was the first to pass.  Polly was second.  One by one others followed.  My dad in 1999 and my mom in 2014. Barb was the last.  She died last Saturday, seventeen days short of her ninety-sixth birthday.  Now that she’s gone, I’m not a kid anymore.

TBC