I remember the early 1980s. We lived in Schenectady, New York. I needed my “silkie” blanket to fall asleep, and my thumb pacified me. I was afraid of the sound of sirens. I wasn’t afraid to spell my entire last name (eleven letters and one apostrophe!) to get my first library card. I loved walking to the library with Mama because on the way home the nice baker-man would give me a sugar cookie. Daddy taught me to ride my blue bicycle on the sidewalks of Crane Street. My first concert was Sesame Street, Live.
We went to a church where the other children danced in the aisles with tambourines as we clapped for God. I liked to sing, but I didn’t dance much.
Sometimes Mama would tell me to talk to Jesus when I couldn’t fall asleep. So I did.
So simple, I long for simplicity again. Your mama told you to talk to Jesus if you couldn’t sleep, so you did. So simple, so true.
So simple, I long for simplicity again. Your mama told you to talk to Jesus if you couldn’t sleep, so you did. So simple, so true.