I lived in many different places growing up. One small town we lived in was just like this. We lived in the "Jones'" house, which was of course the people that lived there before us. I remember walking down main street shortly after moving in and a complete stranger walking up to me and saying you must be Steve. These sound like negative stories. They are not. I have fond memories of that town.
You are viewing a single comment's thread from:
Growing up in a small town was rather idyllic. I was able to spend my days wandering through town until I found someone who was doing something that interested me and then I could join in. Maybe it was helping my grandpa in the garden or helping the neighbor can peaches or watching my uncle collect honey from his beehive. My mom knew that there would always be something to keep me entertained and she also knew that I would never be lacking for a meal. If I wasn't home she would know that I was having sandwiches with my cousins on the back porch. It really was just one big happy family and summer time was heavenly. Oh, and when I am together with my cousins? The Jones house is still the Jones house and we all know exactly where we are talking about.