![]() In the years since, friends have told me they would stop by Dad-dad’s even without me.It’s explained by both privilege and a different era that my brothers and our friends were free to play tag across an entire block’s worth of yards, or knock on doors without thinking twice. “And a lot of goodies.”Sam and a friend, Olivia, said nearly identical things when I asked about memories of neighborliness in Silver Spring, Maryland: “I was always being sent to a neighbor’s to borrow ingredients” and “there was not a day that we were not outside.”I cherish these memories, but what I cherish most is my grandfather’s curiosity and openness, and his joy to see children knock at the door, whether they were his grandkids or not. ![]() An accomplished woodworker, he finished an eave in his attic, intuiting correctly that it was a perfect space for forts.“We knew we had a haven there,” said my brother Sam. We knew we could stop by anytime for a treat, or for tea and cookies at 4 p.m. I would hop on my bike and head over for a mini Horizon chocolate milk.My brothers and I called him Dad-dad, and so did our friends. When I was 6, I found independence in journeys to my grandfather’s house, two blocks away. ![]()
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