It was an old neighborhood, one where the houses had front porches on which people would sit in the evening, chat with neighbors, and read the newspaper or listen to a ball game on the radio.
Those poor souls could hear the water from the garden hose trickle into the flower bed. They could speculate on the weather or critique the violin lessons being given two doors down. They studied trees, dogs, and reactions. They had a certain modesty and dignity. Standards were expected and honored. You were an individual but you were one within the larger community.
This odd sort didn't hide in the back room, staring at a screen. They studied the uniqueness of people and could tell from a quick glance or a slight intonation if something wasn't right, if someone needed help.
They were there for one another. They were there to celebrate and boost one another. You had to coax them to brag.
In many parts of the country, we've drifted away from that.
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