Picture from Friendship Baptist Church 1987 Austin
This poem was found on Facebook in Texas History April 29, 2025
by Cheryl King
We are the echoes of a time long past,
A generation built to last.
We walked to school, then home again,
No phones in hand, just sun and rain.
We did our homework, quick and neat,
Then ran outside to rule the street.
We played 'til dusk, our voices loud,
In hide and seek beneath the clouds.
We baked with mud, not pots or pans,
And built our dreams with paper hands.
With sports cards stacked and trades well made,
We chased the wind, we weren’t afraid.
We hunted bottles, scrubbed them clean,
For five cents back—a childhood scene.
Then came the treat, our sweet reward:
A Mountain Dew and candy hoard.
We spun our records, danced along,
To every scratchy vinyl song.
We saved our photos, clips, and news,
In albums we would proudly use.
On rainy days, we’d play and scheme,
With board games and a decked-out team.
At midnight, TV said goodnight,
With an anthem fading out of sight.
We had our parents, strong and near,
Their voices calm, their presence clear.
We whispered jokes beneath the sheets,
Our laughter soft, our hearts upbeat.
We are the ones now fading slow,
A golden time the world won’t know.
A generation, bold and free—
Gone, but rich in memory.
I wouldn’t trade those days for gold,
I’m proud to be from days of old.😎
