In the early to mid-1950's my parents both had jobs as they raised three children. I was the youngest child at the time of this story. To look at me in play was to see a typical grubby kid, no shoes, dirty feet, stuck mostly in little dresses as I played in a small patch of dirt called a yard at 366 Columbia Street. From the corner of Columbia running up toward State Street were apartment row houses, painted gray. They were nice looking buildings, side by side, that ran to the alley, and there was a 'gangway' between the buildings that led in to our little backyard.
This story I am going to share with you happened when I was about four going on five, or thereabouts. What astounds me when I look back is how powerful those moments were, and how my life's lessons were already forming and formed at such an early age. My parents exposed us to life; we were allowed to play on the sidewalks, on the street. I took it all in from a very early age, and looking back, I was very fortunate to be raised in an ethnically diverse neighborhood.
This story I am going to share with you happened when I was about four going on five, or thereabouts. What astounds me when I look back is how powerful those moments were, and how my life's lessons were already forming and formed at such an early age. My parents exposed us to life; we were allowed to play on the sidewalks, on the street. I took it all in from a very early age, and looking back, I was very fortunate to be raised in an ethnically diverse neighborhood.
The lot where 366 Columbia Street once stood, and one of the row houses that is left. I took this photo in the 1990's. I do think that is the actual second floor landing.
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