Wholesomeness and Hope
I grew up in Norman Rockwell's version of America, small town of 110, Grandparents one direction 20 miles away, the home of the President of the United States, Allied Commander who had just won the war a decade earlier, just 15 miles away. Other than the atomic bomb and tornado drills, hope for the future knew no bounds, for migration through the huge middle class was open to everyone from that vantage point. Life was so wholesome that there were no curse words hurled around or sexual situations on TV. Lucy and Ricky slept in separate twin beds! Play was unrestricted. We climbed anything we could find and rode our bikes all the time. We were real Mark Twain characters, wearing no shoes in any weather allowing it, building snow forts in weather that allowed that, ever forming worlds from our imaginations. One of our favorite pastimes was playing Cowboys and Indians when no one was available with a glove and ball to play catch. A good guy ...