Okay, so when I was a kid, (yes, this is one of those stories) the village I live in now was one of those places you see on television, but with a lot more character.

I had a group of friends, all fireman’s kids, and we’d ride our bikes all over the village, stopping off at whoever’s house was closest for refreshments, only to go ride our bikes some more.

Everyone knew everyone, and if you were doing something wrong and got caught, you were put in the car and brought home to face your parents’ wrath.

If you fell and skinned your knee, you’d stop at the closest house for someone to fix your “boo boo” for you.

Everyone’s parents had the same rule: Be home within 5 minutes of the street lights coming on.

There wasn’t an inch of this village that had gone unventured into… from creeks to woods to backyards to swimming pools to bathrooms. I’ve been in nearly every single house here at one point or another in my life.

We even had a “penny candy” shop/arcade at one point - it was run by some rather less-than-respectable people, but we all went there.

We had a resident bum - his name was “Rebel” and he was a displaced Southerner (WAY displaced). Had been in Vietnam, and squatted in this little shack (the owner never made him leave). I remember his stories… about square dances and “back in the day”. No one was ever afraid of him, and my mother fondly tells the story about the time she was walking Tollie and she had gotten away from her… Rebel got Tollie, brought her back to mom, and then walked the rest of the way back to the house with mom to make sure she and the dog were okay. Mom gave him something to drink (no, not booze, probably iced tea), and he left on his merry way. Rebel passed away about 6 years ago - but it almost seems like forever.

In the past 8 or 9 years though - the village has sort of changed. Not much, as it’s still a small place, but the people have changed. There are lots of people here I wouldn’t know if I fell over them. The kids around here are flat out disrespectful (more on that later), a rehab (sort of) facility has moved into the old Nealon’s Home for Seniors, and you rarely see people looking out for each other like they used to. It’s almost heart-breaking to think about it. There are kids all over the place that I don’t know, much less know their parents. Homes are falling apart because there’s a slumlord who owns half of a main street that runs through the village, and for a time, she would ONLY rent out to people who had “graduated” from the rehab house.

The woods behind my house that used to lead me to my grandmother’s (yes, over the river creek and through the woods!) is all overgrown because the guy who bought it refused to allow us to walk through it anymore, and he stopped taking care of it.

I’ve been debating on whether or not (if given the finances) to leave here when I chose to move out on my own again… it’s become this sad little place. Wrought with all sorts of “bad folk” and a lack of neighborly-ness that was so charming when I was a kid.

Then yesterday, as I was about to make dinner, there was a knock at the front door. I opened it to see two young boys (of course, boys I don’t know) standing there, one holding the palm of his hand, looking up at me. He said, in his most humble voice, “C-could I please have a wet paper towel?”

I grabbed a wet paper towel, some dry ones, and the peroxide and went outside. He had fallen off his bike and scraped up both his hands, one of which was bleeding lightly.

“Oh noooo, not the per-OX-ide!!”

All three of us laughed.

I put the wet paper towel on his cut, and then proceeded to clean him up. Dad grabbed a band-aid and I patched him up as he told me about how the bag on his handlebars (full of clothes, apparantly they’d gone swimming) had gotten caught in the spokes of his tire and jerked the bike, which caused him to fall.

His friend said, “Do you want me to take the bag now?” and with a macho shrug, the boy said, “Nah, I got it.”

As they rode off, the unscathed boy had the bag on his lap.

Of course, this brought to mind all sorts of memories, and filled my heart with “warm fuzzies”.

Just when I thought the charm of this place had left - when it seemed like no one really knew anyone, and for sure didn’t trust those they don’t know - I got brought back to MY OWN childhood, with my own scraped up appendages.

I think I might just consider staying here a little while longer…