No one is obligated to talk to a reporter, but it is strange to live in a time where we regard anyone on our front step with suspicion.As Mr. I had a very different experience door-knocking near my old neighborhood, where the few people who did answer the door were standoffish and curt. And while that environment of trust isn’t one the majority of Americans enjoy, it is one many are trying to cultivate.Michael Dolan, author of a book on porches, invited me not only onto his porch, but also into his living room to discuss today’s story on porch culture. In the years since, friends have told me they would stop by Dad-dad’s even without me.It’s explained by both privilege and a different era that my brothers and our friends were free to play tag across an entire block’s worth of yards, or knock on doors without thinking twice. “And a lot of goodies.”Sam and a friend, Olivia, said nearly identical things when I asked about memories of neighborliness in Silver Spring, Maryland: “I was always being sent to a neighbor’s to borrow ingredients” and “there was not a day that we were not outside.”I cherish these memories, but what I cherish most is my grandfather’s curiosity and openness, and his joy to see children knock at the door, whether they were his grandkids or not.

An accomplished woodworker, he finished an eave in his attic, intuiting correctly that it was a perfect space for forts.“We knew we had a haven there,” said my brother Sam.

We knew we could stop by anytime for a treat, or for tea and cookies at 4 p.m. I would hop on my bike and head over for a mini Horizon chocolate milk.My brothers and I called him Dad-dad, and so did our friends. When I was 6, I found independence in journeys to my grandfather’s house, two blocks away.

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