I always felt safe, protected and free walking the streets of my neighborhood. Those days in the 1950s and 1960s growing up in Oakland on 24tth Avenue and later Brookdale Avenue were quite memorable. Saturday mornings would find dads washing their cars or tending to yard work while kids, after half-heartedly raking up loose leaves, jumping on bicycles and lacing up roller skates zooming off to adventures known and unknown. The Flores, the Fongs, the Joneses, Millets, Halls, Grinsteads and Chevron families represented a cross section of rainbow diversity.A lot of things are said and written about Oakland these days and much of it is not good. The positive things get buried among all the negativity of crime gone rampant. It might be hard to find the kind of neighborhood cohesiveness that existed when I grew up, but I know a few pockets of safe havens must still exist, just maybe under different circumstances.I want to believe there are still pockets of areas in this beautiful city where neighbors look out for each other's children and these same children feel safe amidst all the turmoil that is going on around them. With this collection of vignettes and stories from my childhood, I hope to impart a sense of just what Oakland means to me and others who remember back when we were a city learning to assimilate the different cultures and coping with the changing times, and how as children we lived in neighborhoods that welcomed and embraced us. Despite all that we hear and know, Oakland is still home to me; it is my backyard and my haven. It is still a place of which I have pride, and memories I still cherish.