**"The Sweet, Simple Joys of Childhood: A Love Letter to the Past"**

As a little girl growing up in Trinidad, those were truly the best days of my life. Why, you might ask? Let me take you back to a time when happiness wasn't measured in material things, but in the richness of togetherness.

**A Childhood Full of Love and Laughter**

I came from a single-parent home with four brothers and one sister—I was the baby of the family. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. Sure, we fought like cats and dogs, but at the end of the day, our bond was unbreakable. I was the troublemaker of the bunch, always more interested in playing than picking up a book or going to school.

For me, the best part of school was recess, lunchtime, and—oh!—the walk home. It wasn’t just one or two of us making that journey, but a whole crew of children, laughing and looking out for one another. Home was a long trek, but the adventure made it worthwhile. By the time we got there, our bellies weren’t full of food—they were full of fruits!

From the moment we left school until we reached home, we’d feast on nature’s bounty: mangoes, sugar cane, guava, plums, cherries, pommecythere, pomerac, dongs, grapefruit, oranges, Portugals, cashews, chenet, pawpaw—you name it! The kindness of our neighbors made it even sweeter. Some would call out to us, inviting us to pick freely from their trees. There was a beautiful, unspoken love between us and the people around us.

**The Magic of the Gravel Road**

Next to my home was a wide-open road we called *the gravel road*. Every evening, like clockwork, all the kids would gather there by 4 PM. We played everything—cricket, rounders, gun shooting, ketch, red-eye green-eye 123, football, marbles, hopscotch, hide-and-seek—or sometimes, we’d just sit and tell jokes until our sides hurt.

But Saturdays and Sundays? Those were the *real* golden days. From 7 AM to 10 AM, it was TV time—cartoons and animations ruled the morning. Then, at 10:30, you’d hear it—the whistle. A specific pattern meant, *"Come outside!"* But if your parents were home and you were under strict orders to stay inside? You’d respond with a different whistle code: *"Hide! I’ll meet you later."* That was our version of texting—no phones, just whistles and secret signals.

**Chow, Cookouts, and Childhood Schemes**

When we all gathered on Saturdays, we’d make *chow* with whatever fruits we could find. Then, we’d play marble pitching, each of us bringing our chubby bottles, Busta bottles, or pockets full of marbles, ready to compete for the ultimate prize: walking away with *all* the marbles.

But hunger always struck at some point, so we’d pause and decide to *make a cook*. Those with money would contribute, and we’d buy provisions or flour. If no one had money? Well… let’s just say some of us would *borrow* from home without asking. Then, we’d sweet-talk a neighbor into sponsoring a chicken—and somehow, we always got one! Before long, the whole community would join in. More food would appear, more games would start, and the fun would stretch into the night.

Even when it got so dark you could barely see the marbles, the game *had* to go on—especially if you were trying to win back the marbles you *borrowed* from your brothers. Sometimes, I’d be the one crying because I lost. Other times, I’d win—only to lose them again later. And when I got home? I’d play dumb, acting like I had no idea where those marbles went.

**Sundays: River Baths and Scary Stories**

Sundays were for gun shooting, ketch, or hide-and-seek. Afterward, we’d head to the river to cool off. But river water has a way of turning muddy, and by the time we were done, it was obvious where we’d been—covered head to toe in dirt. And you *know* what that meant: a parent waiting with a belt after they’d *specifically* told us not to go!

Some of my fondest memories were when family visited. We’d all gather around, listening to stories about our grandparents and the old ways of life. They spoke of love, community, and how family wasn’t just about blood—it was about how you lived with the people around you. *"When you eat, everyone eats,"* they’d say. *"Always cook a little extra in case someone stops by."* Those lessons in kindness and generosity stayed with me forever.

When the electricity went out (as it often did), the kids and teenagers would sneak off to tell scary stories. We’d compete to see who could tell the spookiest tale—the One-Teeth Man who’d pull out your teeth while you slept, the Boogeyman hiding under your bed, or the Red-Eye Man who lurked in the dark. After those stories, I’d *always* end up sleeping with my mother, my big brother, or my sister—with the lights on, of course!

**A Bittersweet Reflection**

Those were the best days, and I’m proud to have been part of that generation. There’s a song by Richard Nappy Mayers called *"Bring Back the Old Time Days,"* and every time I hear it, tears fill my eyes. The memories hit hard—especially when I think about how things used to be compared to how they are now.

Trini to de bone… Sweet T&T… Where is that love now? Lost to crime, fear, and division. These days, you can’t even joke with people the way we used to. You have to be afraid to go anywhere. Every day, six or seven people are murdered. Kidnappings, robberies—even in your own home, you’re not safe. We’re now ranked **sixth in the world** for crime rates. Most of it is gang-related, but not all.

If you’re single these days, consider yourself blessed—or *be* a blessing. We’ve dealt with COVID, dengue, and now, a different kind of plague: violence against women. Men killing women—sometimes whole families, down to the littlest child. It’s heartbreaking. I ask again: *Where is the love?*

I’ve stopped watching the news. If it’s not local tragedy, it’s international crises—rising prices, inflation, businesses struggling, people losing jobs. When people can’t afford food or bills, desperation sets in. Crime will only get worse. It’s a cycle that hurts everyone.

**A Wish for the Future**

My only hope is that one day, we can return to being the friendly, loving neighbors we once were. That we can forgive, move forward, and rebuild the kindness that once defined us. But for now… it’s just a wish.

Thank you for reading my story. I hope you’re doing alright. Sending love and blessings your way—take it one day at a time, in Jesus’ name. ❤️

**—A Proud Trini Who Still Believes in Better Days**