"...we dreamt accordingly...."
I'm not a good old person because I'm constantly thinking about how things were different (and better) when I was young. As a child my worries were condensed and contained, and my days were structured around trying to minimize these worries as much as possible. The girl in the hall who never looked my way, and the bully on the playground who always did. The crazy nun with the wicked temper. Getting home from school in time to watch the one game playoff between the Yankees and the Red Sox. Having the correct sneakers and the proper jeans was important. Coming up with fresh ways to hit up my Mom for money (if I asked my Dad he would silently pull out his empty wallet, hand it to me, and say "whatever is in there you can have"). I learned that my Mom was one for leaving excess change and small bills in her coat pockets, and I'd rifle through them constantly. Some decent change was all I needed. Enough for a 16 oz Pepsi at Pagnotti's, with a bag of Jax. As a pre-teen this was the breakfast (and lunch and dinner) of champions. A few singles in the pocket made me feel large. A five dollar bill was the Comstock lode.