Sunday, February 4, 2018
Growing up in the small town of Chester we had many friends to hang out with. All the families knew each other and no one had ever heard of play dates. We didn't make appointments to get together; we were always at one house or the other.It was a wonderful place to grow up. We Baby Boomers talk about drinking from the garden hose without getting sick, playing outside in every season until dark (sometimes after dark, by the light of street lamps), and how our friends' parents (or any adult, for that matter) had just as much right to yell at us and discipline us as our own parents...and by gosh, we listened. However, those other parents didn't yell at us very often. Instead they welcomed us, made us lunch, let us stay overnight with their kids, took us on outings, and cared for us as they did for their own. One day when I was little maybe 6 or 7 I was walking to school and I tripped on something and fell on the concrete sidewalk. This time I hurt my knee pretty badly and I wasn't sure what to do. I was just outside of Mr. and Mrs. Angersola's house. Their oldest son David was my brother's best friend, and they were wonderful people. I knew if I went and knocked on their door I would get some help, so I did. David's mom, Toni, took me in right away and calmly cleaned and patched my injury. She got me all set to continue on to school, and it didn't surprise my mother at all when I came home that afternoon and told her I fell, but Toni Angersola fixed it. That was more than 55 years ago. Things are kind of different now. It was safe back then, but kids that age don't walk to school alone any more, and if they did, I'm not sure they'd know where to go for help if hurt themselves. But I knew. I have plenty of scars on my knees from those carefree days, though I'm not sure I still have that scar. However, I still have the memory. It's a memory that pops up every now and then and always warms my heart: the day Mrs. Angersola made everything alright again.
