“Who doesn’t know what I’m talking about,
”Wide Open Spaces” by The Chicks
Who‘s never left home, who’s never struck out,
To find a dream and a life of their own—
A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone.”
To this day, the faint echoes of children’s laughter and the distant chime of the Dickie Dee ice cream truck bring to life the vibrant scenes of my childhood neighbourhood, where the simple joys of youth unfolded inside “the complex.”
A kingdom of a different kind.
Growing up on the “wrong side of the tracks,” in a supportive housing development often implies limited access to resources, heightened crime levels, and various social issues. But in a world where fitting in was a struggle, it served as a refuge from social stigma, offering protection, privacy, and a sense of inclusion far removed from the stereotypes often imposed on me. To Little Me, it wasn’t a neighbourhood defined by challenges—it was a grand fortress filled with guardians, treasures, and heroes.
Despite the absence of elaborate furnishings and walk-in closets, I felt secure within the sturdy brick and vinyl-sided walls of our home that prioritized functionality and cost-efficiency over grandiose design. Our home reflected the eclectic spirit of the ’70s, with oversized harvest gold appliances, chipped laminate countertops, and durable linoleum tile in the kitchen. Macrame décor adorned the walls, as beaded curtains swayed in the entranceway to the living room where chunky glass ashtrays and quirky figurines adorned every surface. Iconic red swag lamps dangled over the low-slung, red corduroy couch and the matching red velour drapes skimmed the gold-coloured wall-to-wall shag carpeting where slices of Spam and possibly small children could go undetected.
Guardians and giggles.
The complex pulsated with social activity where imagination reigned supreme and every corner held the promise of adventure. During a time when the sun was our friend and every child carried the distinctive scent of Noxzema’s menthol and eucalyptus, we roamed freely through the sprawling complex from dawn till dusk, vigilantly watched over by parents and surrounded by countless friends of all ages. The streets were always safe for play, where we immersed ourselves in endless games of Double Dutch, Long Rope, Red Rover, Tag, and Hide-and-Go-Seek. The entire neighbourhood was our playground—where puddles turned into pools on rainy days, and small ponds transformed into ice rinks during winter ones.
On hot summer days, we gathered in large groups to play “tennis ball” (our much easier version of baseball), cruised on our skateboards in vacant lots, and roamed beyond its walls to explore the city on our bikes—without helmets. We ventured into nearby woods and parks, collecting rocks to paint, chestnuts to fashion into necklaces, climbed trees, and built forts. The vast green spaces with their worn paths always led to new adventures and to large green electrical boxes (aka padmount transformers) that served as gleaming towers from which to survey my vast fortress.
Heroes.
In our little uncoventional kingdom, where challenges were more common than comfort, Little Me saw a land brimming with possibility. Here, the most magnificent castle wasn’t built from stone and mortar, but from dreams, determination, and community support. Our castle stewards stocked our local store with essential goods (and lots of treats!) to feed and sustain families, transformed empty units into a library to spark imaginations, created opportunities for youth to develop a sense of duty and comradeship as young Pioneers, and provided supportive services that enhanced families’ quality of life and economic stability.
I was proud of the social and economic progress within my little community, watching as residents overcame difficult circumstances and secured the financial means to flourish as individuals and families. So when my very own neighbours took the bold steps to leave the shelter of our protective and familiar walls for a brighter future, I took it upon myself to give them a going-away gift. With a used pink Thermoset Lucite necklace in hand—sensibly, yet thoughtfully, wrapped in lined three-ring binder paper—I strutted across our narrow two-foot-wide lawn and proudly presented my heartfelt offering.
But my pride quickly turned to hurt when I later found it tossed in their trash, buried among unwanted clothes and decomposing waste. Sharp stings of embarrassment pierced my cheeks as I ran into the house and locked myself in my bedroom, feeling foolish for making such a gesture and crushed by the weight of my misplaced effort.
Treasures.
While I will always be incredibly grateful for the experiences, adventures, and lessons learned during my time at ‘the complex,’ I also secretly blame this particular incident for the fortress that sometimes resides around my heart. It’s also why I cherish any gifts and keepsakes I’m fortunate to receive, why I value intention, accept without judgment, and what likely sparked the photo-taking-keepsake-hoarding-memory-making-family-archiving-ninja I am today.