Stand up. Speak up. It’s Your Turn. “This isn’t the same town I grew up in!” I hear that said over and over again, and this is from people a lot younger than I. Well, I’ll tell you how it was before you all were around. I was born in 1950. We lived on Grove Street. That was the Greek section of town, Auburn Street, Cedar Street, Spruce Street, etc. My mom told me how no one locked their doors around there, how the kids went from house to house, how it was one big family. My grandparents had a grocery store as did many Greeks, and they lived in an apartment above the store. My grandfather had this great idea that he would get a goat and slaughter it for Easter dinner. The goat lived with the family and, of course, became part of the family. The kids fed him and took him out for walks and he became the neighborhood celebrity. When Easter came Grandpa took the goat and had it slaughtered. At the big dinner the kids cried because he had killed their pet, so no one would eat. Well, my grandfather decided to set the example and he grabbed a handful of goat meat to eat, but the kids went nuts, crying and screaming until he took the tray of meat and had to throw it away. So much for that bright idea.