The Seasons of My Neighborhood

I want to start this by saying that I am well aware of the bias that I have when it comes to my upbringing. Obviously I am going to think I had the best childhood and lived in the most fun neighborhood and built the strongest connections with all the kids I grew up around. 

However, even from an objective point of view, I think one could argue that my neighborhood not only made me into the person I am today but has instilled a deep sense of pride and love for the street that I call home. 

Ranch Trail West, or RTW (as the people in the neighborhood have always called it), is where my siblings and I have spent our entire lives. RTW is not just a street name; to me, it is an identity and a part of who I have grown to become. 

As a little kid, I had the privilege of spending my free time with all the kids that lined my street, spanning the ages of newly-born all the way through high school (for reference, when I was in elementary school, the combined elementary-middle school bus stop had upwards of thirty kids running around every morning). No matter what time of day or year it was, if you wanted to hang out and play with someone on the street, there was always a guarantee at least one person would be around to join you. 

Summers were spent riding our bikes in groups of ten or twelve to 7/11 down the street (at least one “older” kid had to be there), selling homemade lemonade to all of our parents for fifty cents a cup and trying everyone’s desserts that they brought to the yearly block party. On the hottest days, we would beg one of the few parents that owned a pool to let us all come over and turn their backyard into a waterpark with sprinklers, slip ‘n slides and water guns (in retrospect, I can understand that the damage to their nicely groomed backyards was sometimes not worth the “yes,” but boy were we persistent with our requests). 

With little homework from the beginning of the school year, autumn made for an awesome excuse to play street hockey, four-square and double dutch in a rotation of our driveways, the girls trading sweaters from Old Navy and the Gap when we got bored of the same clothes in our own closets. On a Sunday afternoon when all the parents would get together to watch the Bills play, us unenthused kids would take it upon ourselves to rake up fallen leaves from our parents’ yards and compete in our own high-jump competition over the giant leaf piles (what seemed “giant” at the time was probably only like two or three feet at most). 

In the winter, groups of us would beg our parents to bundle us up and we would march down to the bend in the street so we could take turns sledding down the giant hill that the plow made from all the snow on the road. If we were lucky, someone’s parents would let everyone come over (on some days, “everyone” could literally mean fifteen kids) and we would create a Just Dance bracket, spending hours competing against each other to early 2000’s hits.  

When our parents decided to put together a neighborhood-wide block sale from all the spring cleaning they did in March and April, the kids on the street would take that as an opportunity to walk around and take a look at all the cool things that the Dulski’s and the Tripp’s had that we wanted so badly. Unfortunately, the rule in my house was that we were not allowed to bring anything from someone else’s house back to our own (at the time I felt betrayed and targeted by said restriction, but as an adult, I can understand why it was so annoying to sell all of our “stuff” just to refill our garage with someone else’s). 

No matter what time of year it was, growing up on RTW gave me something to do. I learned how to share, play nicely, organize activities and found my voice by simply stepping off my front porch. Some of my fondest memories from my childhood include the people that just coincidentally lived a couple houses down from my own.

Not only has my neighborhood shaped the person I have grown up to be, but I know that if I decide to have my own kids some day, I want to prioritize the type of street they grow up on. You do not need the nicest house or the most toys, but surrounding yourself with other kids who just want to play can encourage imagination, collaboration and form friendships that you may not have otherwise had in your life. A neighborhood does not only have to be an address for your mail; a neighborhood can become something you look back on with nostalgia and love. 

So thanks, RTW. I am the person I am today because of the little girl who you raised and took care of.

• #growing up
• #nostalgic
• love