I grew up during a magical time, a simpler time when cell phones were futuristic items in comic books — I’m talking about the 60s.
I’m here thanks to the kindness of a great neighbor, Bill Goda, who sprung into action and immediately agreed to drive my mother to Milford Hospital when she went into labor while she was icing my Leap Year Baby brother’s 1st Birthday cake. Back in 1957, the roads weren’t paved so, the ride was bumpy and really uncomfortable, but Bill got her there safe and sound.
I was a breached birth, and my father left work in Bridgeport and drove the old Dodge as fast as he could to be there for us. My gramma took care of my brothers until we came home and then we celebrated my middle brother’s 1st birthday.
The 60s were a great time to be a kid and our neighborhood was ideal for families. Each and every house had two or more kids, and except for one home across the street from us with teenagers, most of us were around the same age. (The teens babysat for us.) When a family in the home at the top of the road moved, a new family with a little girl — an only child — moved in, and the rest of the kids quickly embraced her.
Most of the kids on our street went to public school. The three Goda kids and my brothers and I all went to Catholic school together.
The most extraordinary thing about our neighborhood was, you’d come home from school, do your homework, then head outside to play. If you weren’t in the mood for jump rope or hopscotch, you could knock on a door and find someone to play cops and robbers, ride bikes, roller skate, or challenge in a foot race. There was always someone to play with you.
Colorful sugary cereals were a staple in every kitchen and pop tarts or Carnation Instant Breakfast were the tried and true grab-and-go breakfasts you’d carry out the door if you were running late for that 2-mile walk to school.
All of our parents knew one another and were friendly. The church bowling league, blue fishing day trips, cookouts, pool parties, and ice-skating dates were normal pastimes on our little street.
When I was very young, before any of the moms had to go to work to help with the household finances, you would find the ladies gathered in a living room at the home at the top of the street to exercise with Jack Lalaine.
On Easter Sunday we’d go to the Goda’s and have Epic Easter Egg Hunts every year. It wasn’t unusual for my parents to host a Hawaiian-themed party in the basement once a month with Boots Randolph records blasting through the stereo until the early morning hours.
In the winter months, we were almost always guaranteed to have a full blanket of snow on the ground and yes, on the street. Imagine 20 kids with plastic saucers or Radio Flyer Sleds perched on top of the highest lawn at the top of the street and racing down the hill with a shaggy “Disney dog” running after them at full speed barking all the way — that was my dog “Bootsie.” We would stay outside until our feet were frozen, then we’d go inside someone’s house for hot chocolate, warm up and go right back out again to play until it was time for dinner.
Friendships with the Adults
Sure, we had a lot of kids on the street, and some of us remained close even after 60 years. But, I also found a friend in at least one of the adults in the neighborhood, and it is a relationship that lasted for 66 years.
Bill Goda helped guarantee that I arrived into this world, his wife, Joan, had a hand in making sure I was true to myself and encouraged me in so many stages of my life just as she did with her own children.
She was the first adult to insist we address her as “Joan” and not “Mrs. Goda”. This was difficult for us because we were taught that it was a sign of respect to call adults “Mr.” or “Mrs.” But we finally did it, and so, there it was, and for more than 60 years, she was Joan to me.
I quit school when I was 18, and went to work. Joan encouraged me to take a night class and get my GED. I don’t remember too much about the classes, but If I recall correctly, she was in the class too, and we both passed.
Years after I was married and moved across town, Joan and Bill moved out of our old neighborhood and into a nice home in a quiet neighborhood in Orange, where she read the Amity Observer and kept up with me through my writing.
Her grandson, Raymond, rode his bicycle cross country all by himself and I covered his progress in the newspaper. Joan would tell me how proud she was of him and how pleased she was with the stories.
After I had my strokes in 2009, Joan checked in occasionally to see how I was doing and let me know she was thinking about me.
Bill passed away in December of 2009, and with her strong family support system, Joan carried on and found happiness in volunteering and keeping busy. I would see her at the library reading to children after school as a volunteer and then, she joined the Lions Club and I was always happy to see her at their events. That familiar smile on her face, handing out prizes to children at the Easter Egg Hunt or sipping wine with her granddaughter, Kathryn, at the annual Lions Wine Tasting.
A few years ago, while in her late 80s, Joan decided to sell her home. With her son living out of state, her two daughters, Beverly, of Orange, and Carol who lives in Southington, happily agreed to “share” mom. They set up nice, comfortable living areas in their homes for Joan. She lived with her daughter in Orange for a year and a half until she took a spill and before she could spend any time in Southington it became apparent that Joan needed a bit more help.
She enjoyed the last few years at the Village at Mariner’s Point in East Haven, and took advantage of all of the activities they had to offer. She made many new friends and continued being a social butterfly until her health took a turn a few months ago, and she couldn’t get out anymore.
Joan passed away on May 23, and she wasn’t alone. She was with family members who were talking to her until the moment that she took her last breath. It’s comforting to know that she was surrounded by those she loved.
I knew Joan for 66 years and always marveled at how patient and kind she (and Bill) were. How they raised three strong, successful, and loving children. Their two daughters raised their children the same way, and the family tree continues to grow with love and respect for one another and everyone around them. The friends they made in grammar school and high school remain their friends to this day. That’s what a good upbringing gives you.
It was heartening to see so many of the “kids” from the old neighborhood coming to pay their respects at the funeral home on Tuesday. Sure, we’re all older and if we hadn’t stayed in touch, we may not have recognized one another. But that wasn’t the case. The three Goda kids greeted their old playmates from 40-50 years ago with open arms and gratitude.
At 93, most of Joan’s oldest friends left this world before her, and all but one of the adults from the old neighborhood are gone, my mom passed away in 2017. But Joan’s Lions Club family was well represented at her wake and funeral, and we struggled to hold it together.
The priests who presided over the funeral mass knew Joan, and it was evident from the delivery of the very personal memories that were shared.
Treasure these moments
If you have a great neighborhood like I had, treasure your time there. Make mental notes of all the good times and your friend’s parents who make a difference in your life. Joan sure made a difference in mine.
I will remain friends with her daughter, Bev, for the rest of my life because, that’s just the way it is. She is two years older than me, and we really don’t have that much in common, but we get along beautifully. That is what a true friendship is, just like the lifelong friendship I had with her mom, Joan.