Just like when I was a child there were times in families lives when the days felt longer, the air felt warmer, and the world felt a whole lot simpler. I find myself thinking back to when we lived over in Riverside, and life had a rhythm that revolved around the sun instead of the clock.
My family would wake up around 7:00 in the morning, David would be leaving for work and I would get breakfast going for Charlie, and before long we were already headed outdoors. There wasn’t a lot of “staying inside and figuring out what to do.” Outside was the plan.
I would end up on the porch doing whatever needed to be done—folding laundry, sipping coffee, keeping an eye on everything happening around me or working because I could bring the laptop outside and work on the blog. Charlie took over the yard and my flowerbed like it belonged to them. And in a way, it did.
Charlie would bring his cars out and play in the dirt for hours on end. If my sister came to visit or David was home we would play tag with Charlie until we were out of breath, and then it would be snack time and back to the dirt and cars. Charlie didn’t need screens or batteries. Just cars, dirt and sometimes we would take a break and draw pictures in chalk, and sometimes it was just running around until someone yelled, “You’re it!” Or we would bring his bike out and walk to the end of the Street.
There were no schedules forcing us back inside. If we got hungry, I had a snack basket I kept next to me until something would melt and it was inside the front door Charlie would grab a quick bite and then he would head right back to the dirt. Lunch didn’t end the fun—it just paused it for a moment.
The neighbors would drift in and out too. Someone always had something to talk about, if Carlos was home he would pull up a chair on the porch just to sit and visit for a while. It was the kind of everyday community that you don’t realize is special until years later.
And then came the evenings—the best part. This was the fun part because Charlie and I would go out early and when everyone was leaving for work and when they got home we would still be outside. Then the evening would come and we would eat on the porch as a family.
We’d watch the sun start to sink lower, casting that golden glow over everything. The streetlights would flicker on one by one, and that was always the signal. Not a loud announcement, not a timer on a phone—just the quiet understanding that the day was winding down.
Most nights, most people would come inside when the streetlights came on. Not Charlie and I we would stay out until 10 or later because we didn’t have a set schedule we had to follow even though David did and he would go on to bed before we did.
Even as Charlie got older and we were living in our Mobile Home Charlie would still stay out sometimes until midnight. Laughing, talking, and soaking up every last bit of that warm night air with his friend Bradley. While I sat on the porch and read or worked.
Looking back now, it feels like a different world. Life wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t constantly interrupted by notifications or errands or screens pulling everyone in different directions. It was just time—open, unhurried, and shared. I wish we still had days like that because I miss those times with Charlie.
These days, I think a lot about how different childhood looks now. And I don’t say that to compare or complain, but to remind myself that those simple moments still matter. They’re still possible, even in small ways. All families have to do is set aside the electronics and make time to go outside.
Still to this day I still sit on my porch and try to bring a piece of that feeling back. Watching the neighbors come in and out, listening to the sounds around me, remembering what it felt like when the streetlights were our only reminder that the day was ending.
Those Riverside days will always stay with me. They taught me that some of the best memories aren’t planned—they just happen when you slow down long enough to live them. I thank the LORD and David for those memories because without David working so I could stay home with Charlie they wouldn’t have happened.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
