I always wanted to live in Mayberry, where the worst problem could be solved by Sheriff Andy Taylor in the span of 30 minutes, minus commercials. Where the town drunk was so harmless he locked himself up in a cell. There was a barber shop where everyone gathered, a cafe and one patrol car. Where Deputy Fife carried a single bullet and never used it. Where a person could take their broken items to be repaired by a man who could fix anything. Where Aunt Bea made breakfast and dinner and occasionally a fool of herself. My ideal fantasy world, safe and secure. Everybody knew your name and your business. The show is still in reruns some 50 years later. I like to believe it wasn't all fiction. I like to believe that somewhere there is or was a place like that. If I could control my dreams, I would spend them in Mayberry. I would have several hours of peace and quiet. I would be a part of a small safe world. I would forget the fear and the bad news that constantly assaults my conscious mind. Perhaps that sounds childish. It probably is.When you are young, you can't wait to grow up. We think when we're older we'll make our own decisions, make our own rules. Instead, we find that the structure that confines us is even more rigid. We have responsibilities. We have knowledge of tragedies and suffering beyond our little world. We mourn. We grieve the losses along the way. And we go on. We have no choice.
I don't watch the Andy Griffith show very often now. Sometimes it is a calm distraction from the frenetic pace of life. Sometimes, it's just a place that doesn't exist, a phantom, a ghost town. A place where I can no longer exist, even in my imagination. I am a grown up now.
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