I was a very young girl during the war years. I remember rationing and the inconveniences it presented, but not the hardship of the Depression my parents never tired of talking about. So when I became the lady of my own house in the sixties, fully enjoying the suburban prosperity my husband was able to achieve, I did not take it for granted. Imagine how difficult it was for me when my daughter started rejecting the comforts we provided her. She moved back to the neighborhood my parents fled—the Lower East Side of Manhattan—living a lifestyle the evening news briefly described as “Voluntary Poverty.” That phrase was, thankfully, replaced with “Counterculture”. I still don’t really know what that was supposed to mean, but at least it wasn’t frightening.
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