My mother would cut the chicken, chop the eggs, and spread butter on bread with the same knife.

On the same cutting board. No separate sanitizer for each task. And you know what happened?

Nothing.
I don’t remember ever having food poisoning even once.

Every Sunday was “chicken with fries.”
We didn’t need McDonald’s to have a family meal.
Those were our traditions. Simple. But precious.

Our school lunch came wrapped in a bread bag.
No insulated lunchbox. No refrigerated compartment.
The lunch? Bread with butter and a few pieces of chocolate.

And surprisingly, no bacteria ever took us down.

In the summer, we swam in rivers, lakes, and at the beach.
No one paid to squeeze into a chlorinated pool.
The beaches were never closed.
And we swam without fear.

At school, we did P.E. in simple sneakers.
No cushioning. No thousand-dollar technology.
Did we fall? Yes. Did we get back up? Yes.
And those falls became stories to tell.

Made a mistake? You got punished.
That was called discipline.
And we grew up respecting rules and honoring our elders.

Sometimes there were fifty kids in a class.
Yet everyone learned to read, write, and do math.

Multiplication tables? We knew them by heart.
Homework? Done at night at the kitchen table.
And we could write a letter without a single spelling mistake.

At the end of the year, there was a school fair.
Cakes made by moms. Raffles. Honor roll with the best students.
What pride!

It didn’t matter where we came from.
We sang the national anthem together. We respected the flag.
And no one saw it as oppression.

We played outside until our parents called us in.
And they always knew where we were.
Because everyone knew each other. Everyone looked out for each other.

Yes, we could even walk the streets at night without fear.

Bee sting? No hospital. No antibiotics.
It was iodine, garlic, or vinegar. And it passed.

Fight at school? We settled it with our fists.
Never with knives. Never with guns.
And the next day, we were playing soccer together again.

And you know the most important thing?

We didn’t know the term “dysfunctional family.”
We solved things naturally.
No group therapy. No prescription meds.
Just life. Simple. Real.

How did we survive?
Maybe precisely because of that simplicity.

Love to everyone who grew up in that time.
And to those who didn’t… I’m sorry for what you missed.

Because today:
The knife has to be used for one thing only.
Lunch has to go in a thermal box with ice packs.
Kids can’t fall because it “might traumatize” them.
Discipline is now abuse.
Singing the national anthem is “indoctrination.”
Playing outside is dangerous.
Settling fights with fists is a crime.

And in the middle of so much protection…
Kids became more fragile.
More anxious.
More lost.

Because we traded simplicity for paranoia.
Freedom for control.
Resilience for fragility.

And now we have:
Children who don’t know how to handle frustration.
Teenagers who can’t write a sentence.
Adults who can’t solve conflicts without suing someone.

I’m not saying everything was perfect.
I’m not romanticizing poverty.
I’m not defending violence.

But there’s something we lost along the way:
The ability to be simple. To be strong. To be human.

Because today:
We have a thousand pieces of information, but no wisdom.
A thousand social networks, but no real connection.
A thousand therapies, but no peace.

And sometimes I look back and think:
We had nothing. And yet, we had everything.

Neighbors who cared.
Streets to play on.
Simplicity to be happy.

And today?
Today we have everything.
But it feels like we have nothing.

💛
This is a tribute to those who grew up with simplicity. Who survived. And became real people.
Not because it was better. But because it was real.