I’ll take you back to a time when people didn’t obsess over machines with screens and keyboards or make their friends over a computer monitor. They had real relationships with flesh and blood—and played games in the mud or the sprinklers, with real grit beneath their fingernails and dustings of summer sunburns on their noses. I was that little girl in her flowerchild sundress that rode her bike until the streetlights came on and mom was standing on the porch in her apron and tight bun pinned in her hair, waving me in for dinner. These were the days when climbing trees was the norm, and taking to a branch with a Lik-m-Aid and some wax candied lips was what we did every Saturday, along with a make-believe game of Dinosaur Hideaway. And waiting for a boy to call took the patience of a saint.