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Knock, knock!

Drippin’ Life

The other night during dinner, our family started discussing their reactions to someone knocking on the front door or ringing the doorbell. The reactions to this reasonably non-threatening occurrence were everything from fear, curiosity and anxiety to anger at the interruption.

Then it was my turn.

“As a kid, during the day in summer months, a knock at the front door meant a friend or a group of friends had finished their breakfast and morning chores and were now ready to play,” I explained. “The same was true during the early evenings (before dinner) and on Saturdays, so these knocks were welcomed with eagerness.“

There were also knocks – sharper and more insistent – than the knocks of our friends. The “knocker” was a neighbor (most often one of our umpteen neighborhood moms who watched out for our safety). When my parents went to the door, which was usually open since every home had a screen door as well, it was another adult to report one of our rare (of course!) sins – like cheating at checkers, tromping on a flowerbed, etc.

On Wednesdays at my grandmother’s home in Dallas, a knock on the door usually meant the “Manor Bakery Man” had arrived, carrying the usual two loaves of bread as well as all sorts of cookies, cinnamon rolls, cherry and apple pies. My cousins and I were partial to their buttery cinnamon rolls and, without fail, my grandmother would also choose a box of yummy, freshly-baked cookies. In Dallas, this bakery employed route salesmen like the milkman, also a home delivery service of the past.

A knock at the door on Sunday afternoons usually meant visitors – friends and their families – who came to join us for homemade ice cream, a potluck dinner or dessert.

Much to my grandchildren’s surprise, visiting friends was a tradition during my childhood. So were neighborhood barbecues, multi-family picnics at the river or the park and roasting hotdogs at the lake.

I attribute the disappearances of some of these traditions, at least for our family, to the invention of central air conditioning, television and busier schedules. Other reasons could be increased mobility of families. In our neighborhood, families rarely moved, so the neighborhood was static and most neighbors were like extended family, which also nurtured our traditional celebrations for holidays, birthdays and for no reason at all.

Another difference? Most gatherings did not include beer, wine or spirits – just “soda pop,” lemonade or Kool-Aid someone brought in a thermos jug.

Parents today regard knocks at the door as interruptions and intrusions on their family time or their work (thus, the plethora of home offices included in floorplans today).

Mostly, these knocks are not from neighbors because they usually call first. In our neighborhood, we don’t just “drop in” or “drop by” as neighbors once did – and besides the courtesy of calling first, most of our neighbors are busier than we are, ferrying kids, traveling or catching up with home maintenance like we are.

When there’s an unexpected knock on the door, there’s also that moment or two of fear… from questions like, “Who could it be?” to “Are they going to kill us?”

As a rule of thumb, when kids are at home without an adult, which is rare, they are told to never open the door… period, even if they know who’s knocking. If an adult is with them, the children can only open the door when the adult is by their side. From the innocence of the midcentury until now, when home invasions, more guns, more untreated mental illness and more mean intentions prevail, “stranger danger” is real.

As for me, I mourn the loss of some of these old traditions. I miss the closeness of the neighborhood…but most of all, I am sorry my grandchildren and the next generations cannot feel the excitement we felt when someone knocked at our door.

Dripping Springs Century-News

P.O. Box 732
Dripping Springs, Texas 78620

Phone: (512) 858-4163
Fax: (512) 847-9054