New England Neighborhoods

My hometown is located on the sleepy southeastern Connecticut (SECT) shoreline, best known for the quaint historic fishing town of Mystic. You remember Julia Roberts' 1988 breakthrough role in Mystic Pizza, right? The one where she played Daisy, the fun-loving pizza parlor waitress, opposite her on-screen sister Kat, the aspiring astronomer and rising Yale freshman? Maybe not. We here in SECT like to think you do—it makes us feel relevant.

SUBMARINE CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

Whether or not you or the rest of the world know our importance level is not an issue. We are, after all, the SUBMARINE CAPITAL OF THE WORLD. Electric Boat or "EB" is a division of General Dynamics, the behemoth government contractor. It sits on one side of town, while the United States Naval Submarine Base (SUBASE) is located just a short distance away. Adjacent to the SUBASE is the USS Nautilus--the world's first nuclear-powered submarine--an exhibit at the Submarine Force Museum. In the next town over, the esteemed United States Coast Guard Academy proudly overlooks the Thames River and has a view of EB, the USS Nautilus, and the SUBASE. Growing up, my friends were either Navy brats, Coastie kids, or EB offspring. I was the last. So was my mom--her dad had a hand in designing the Nautilus. According to my mom, at least. On the other hand, my dad was a Navy brat—my grandfather had emigrated from the Philippines by enlisting in the Navy and eventually settled in this little Connecticut enclave.

Once my parents were married, they settled in a newly developed neighborhood about twenty minutes drive from the water. Call me biased, but in the seventies and eighties, the HIGHLANDS was THE neighborhood to be a kid.

A JUG OF KOOL-AID AND THE SANDBOX

"I'm bored!" It was July in the early 1970s. My mom was sitting in the kitchen, phone to her ear, wrapping the coiled cord around her finger so tightly her hand was turning blue. Her Carlton 100 cigarette dangled nervously from her lip, sticking on to one last wet spot. The telephone began to pull from the wall as the excess length was a tangled mess when my mom suddenly spoke.

"Make your sister a jug of Kool-Aid and get her some snacks. She wants to go outside to play." My mom directed my older sister.

"But Mo-om, I don't want to go outsi-" I did not get to finish.

"You said you were bored. It's a beautiful day; the sun is shining. Your sandbox is waiting for you. If you run out of Kool-Aid, get some cold water from the garden hose. You are all set! Have fun, honey."

That was that. I sat there flabbergasted. I must've been three-years-old. We learned young back then. It still stings to think about that sandbox. It doubled as the neighborhood cat litterbox. Maybe that explains my aversion to our feline friends?

BACKYARD BARBECUE AND BASEBALL

Having a backyard big enough to play baseball or softball was a blast. In the summer, we would host our cousins from neighboring cities and towns. We had a pool AND a big yard--our house was PICNIC CENTRAL. Not only would all the aunties, uncles, and cousins come, but every neighborhood kid and their visiting cousins would be there too! The only thing we lacked was equipment.

"It's headed your way, Amy! Catch the ball!" We were playing softball in our backyard. There were too many of us and not enough softball mitts. Since Amy wasn't very skilled, the other kids decided she didn't need a glove.

"Use two hands, Aim!" Someone coached.

Amy put her two hands up in front of her face as we all looked on. SLAM! Right in her mouth.

"Ooooh!" We collectively turned our heads and closed our eyes, wincing in perceived pain. Amy screeched in agony as blood poured from her mouth. I had never seen my dad run until that day. He sprinted into action, retrieving the garden hose and shoving it into Amy's mouth.

"You're okay! You're okay!" The adults willed my friend to heal. After a few minutes of ice-cold hose water shooting into her mouth, she was either okay or doing a great job of acting like she was okay. I'm pretty sure that I picked up this parenting technique during this episode.

GREEN THUMB YIELDS GARDEN GOODIES

My dad's garden was nothing to sneeze at. He tended it like a pro. Beautiful eggplant that you could see your reflection in, yellow squash, zucchini that grew as big as paddles, cucumbers, tomatoes, and more. He prided himself on great harvests throughout the summer.

Many times, the harvest was so plentiful he would share the spoils with our family, friends, neighbors, or his coworkers. When we moved from our home in the HIGHLANDS, my dad missed his garden. I think our entire family did, as well.

THAT SEVENTIES SHOW: ALL-FILIPINO CAST

At the heart of the matter, this story is truly an American story set, so far, in a quiet New England neighborhood in the 1970s. Yes, some of us may look different. And, yes, some of us may eat pig roasted over a fire on a giant spit. But at the end of the day, our parents went to sleep knowing they connected us with our family. Cousins who ran to catch the ice cream man, who then let you lead them to the shortcut because it was your turf. Aunties who threatened to lock us in the closet if we didn't behave (but never had any intention of actually doing so). As I said, it is a true story of Connecticut in the 1970s.

POOL PARTIES IN THE 1980s

"Why can't I just stay home and swim in our CLEAN POOL?" I complained to my mom for the umpteenth time. She was forcing me to go to a summer program at the elementary school up the street while she went to work. I was 10-years-old, and knew pretty much everything there was to know about anything.

"You can swim in the lake today with Summer Fun or not swim at all." My mom was adamant.

"Don't you mean SUMMER BORE?" I retorted.

"Watch yourself..." My mother was losing her patience.

"Mom, it doesn't make sense. Do you know I saw a dead cat in a paper bag frozen in that lake last winter? Why would I want to swim there? Especially when I have such a crystal clear pool to swim in here at home?" I really did not understand. My 10-year-old mind could not fathom the idea that I was just too young to swim unsupervised.

"It is not for you to understand. It is for you to obey. Capiche, young lady?"

I reluctantly agreed as I continued to wrack my brain for solutions out of this dreadful dilemma. Zilch.

Looking back on this, I wonder if this wasn't the start of my melodramatic behavior.

BUILDING SNOW FORTS IN THE FRONT YARD

We didn't get as much snow in the HIGHLANDS as other parts of Connecticut. Because the snow was hard to come by, we took to the front yard closer to the street to make our forts. The plows did us the courtesy of pushing extra snow to the curb, almost creating the fort for us! We just had to find blocks of ice for the windows.

I look back on these fond memories with a sense of irony. My mom never allowed us to play in the front yard. A 6-year-old boy had shifted his dad's truck into gear and barreled down our hill, crashing into our station wagon parked in our driveway several years earlier. It's strange that on a snowy, potentially treacherous driving day, that I was permitted to play quite near the street. Hmmm?

HIGHLAND RAPIDS IN HURRICANE GLORIA

Hurricane Gloria rocked us in 1985. Our streets flooded, and the winds were strong. The eighties were not a time of round-the-clock news and weather. Nobody was warning us not to go outside. Nobody wagging a finger to say, "don't ride an inner tube down your hill." So guess what I did? I road the HIGHLAND RAPIDS like nobody's business! Move over Busch Gardens; these river rapids were the real deal. THIS WAS LIVING.

YOU ARE ONLY A KID ONCE

One of the greatest parts of being a kid is just that...being a kid. Growing up in the HIGHLANDS let me be a K-I-D, with very few outside or artificial stressors. From playing in my sandbox and drinking Kool-Aid to playing backyard ball. To helping my dad weed the garden and harvest the veggies. To swimming in our pool and making snow forts in the front yard. To the crowning glory of riding the rapids of a hurricane down the very hill that I had spent my life on.