Longing for Mayberry: Life In a Small Town
I grew up in a small town in North Carolina, probably not too much bigger than the mythical town of Mayberry, portrayed on television in days of yore. Everybody knew just about everybody else, neighbors actually spoke to each other, socialized and looked out for the welfare of other people’s children as well as for their own. I lived in a community populated mostly by professional people- teachers, school administrators, small business owners, ministers and nurses- who all lived in attractive homes with neat, well-manicured lawns that the men took special pride in. “Downtown” consisted of a row of storefront places of business on Main Street. We had one bank, one movie theater, one Hardees, one Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant, one Dairy Queen and the biggest thing to hit town, back then, was the opening of a single mall.
It was safe for us kids back then to ride our bikes around the corner and back, no fears by parents of us being kidnapped by pedophiles or of any of us being drawn into criminal gangs. As a matter of fact, during those days, what was considered to be a “gang” was merely the group of kids you hung out with to play kickball or dodgeball or tag with. Most of us kids were told, in no uncertain terms, that we “better be in the house before the streetlights came on”, and, as we raced our bicycles to scurry back home in time, a lot of the grown folks stood out on their porches to make sure we got back alright.
Life was easier then, more gentle, less hostile than today’s world and I treasure the safety I felt then. At least that is the kind of recollection I have kept enshrined in my memory.
I realize, however, that most of us tend to romanticize the past, especially as time advances and our lives get more complicated and unsure.
Looking back to those times with a degree of realism now, I have had to come to grips with the fact that things really were not as perfect as I have liked to imagine they were.
For example, I learned, not so long ago, that a family that lived close by to us when I grew up and seemed to be the “perfect” All-American family had, in fact, suffered a number of personal afflictions. The father-a respected school administrator-was a philanderer, while his wife, I found out, had been an alcoholic for years. They had three children, the oldest a girl, the second a boy who was one of the most popular boys in the community and a younger son who adored his older brother. When both sons grew up, they became addicted to drugs and died as a result of it. Another neighbor, it turned out, had been abusing his wife for years. I have heard more and more revelations like these recently and was saddened, not only for the people involved, but for the fact that my nostalgic illusions were beginning to become undone.
Also, while it was true that everybody in my little small town knew each other, things were primarily racially segregated. There were two distinct parts of town- the white section and the black section-and we maintained our own separate existences, for the most part, until the inevitable onset of school integration. The adjustment was not an easy one and things at one point, got very ugly. Diversity and uniqueness were not looked upon positively in that town and those who marched to the beat of their own proverbial drummer were either ostracized or picked on.
In essence, the town I have exalted for so long was not the Shangri-La I wanted it to be. Even if it had been, the small towns of today experience the same social maladies as large cities- crime, drugs, gangs.- so “Mayberry,” in a sense, is dead and
gone .
I guess the difference was that, back when I was growing up, parents insulated us from the harsh realities of what life was.
Maybe that is what I really miss.
